When Cold Winds Blow
by TlMELOCKED
Summary: A collection of ASOIAF Mafia AU drabbles spanning both the current generation and the previous one. Mostly Stark-centric but other characters from other families will make appearances.
1. Organized Crime

A/N: So, I'll be honest, I don't really know what this is. This AU has been seeding in my head for so long and I needed to get it somewhere besides my own google docs. This will mostly be drabbles, probably around 1000 words each. Also, a lot of it will be about the Starks because I'm pretty much obsessed with them, but I'll make sure other characters and other families get in there at some point too. It'll be the most basic definition of an AU, where the same characters and the same events are just transplanted into a different setting. Also, this probably won't be linear. I don't really know yet (can you tell I haven't done much planning with this lol). This first chapter is mostly just an introduction to the world and the way the whole thing is set up. This chapter starts pretty much in the middle of Robert's Rebellion, but the narrative itself will jump backwards and forwards all over the place. I'll make sure the put the characters and the timeframe in a note at the beginning of each chapter. Hope you guys enjoy! (Also this hasn't been beta-read so I apologize for any errors)

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 **August 10th, 1996**

Agent Mick Hannigan paced up and down the floor of his office, hands on his forehead. He looked out the window frequently, at the Chicago skyline, sighing often and shaking his head. Finally he sat down behind his desk, leaning backward in his chair and inhaling deeply.

Something odd was going on in his city.

Something odd was always going on in his city, especially when a person worked Organized Crime in Chicago, but this was a brand of odd Hannigan had never seen in his fifteen years with the Bureau.

 _Odd comes with the territory, Mick_ , said his team members when he'd voiced his suspicions earlier. And they were right. The way organized crime ran around here was not normal at all - organizations worked together, bailed each other out, and let themselves be run by a tyrant who took profit from all of them. The way the Starks, Lannisters, Baratheons, all of the huge families in town - old families with proud histories back in their home countries - let the Targaryens run them around and tell them what to do was one of the strangest things Hannigan had ever encountered. His coworkers had spent years just trying to figure out the way the damn system worked, and they were still trying to put together the puzzle pieces.

But _something_ had happened to destroy that system.

The Targaryen patriarch had been losing it for a while - everyone knew that. Mick heard rumors all the time from the innocent new agents who were astounded by the things the man was capable of. Thirty house fires had been started in one night a year or so ago, all residences of people Aerys was known to have a grudge against. His preferred contracted killer, someone the moles called Payne, supposedly had his tongue ripped out when it was whispered throughout the Mob that Payne thought Tywin Lannister was really running the operation (a statement which, Hannigan thought, was probably true). And some of the seasoned veterans had been hearing disturbing chatter from undercover agents that Rhaegar Targaryen was trying to overthrow his father to take his "rightful place" at the head of the Mafia.

Hannigan didn't concern himself with the Targaryens or the any of the others much. His assignment was the Starks, who were their own brand of weird. They ran the north end of town and stayed out of the way of most of the other families. The people he'd inherited the case from had said the Starks were a very secretive clan, rarely straying outside of their own comfort zone, but things had begun to change in the last ten years or so; they'd been interacting more with the other families. The oldest son, Brandon, had been seen making a tour around the clubs the Starks were in charge of, observing and noting to make sure he knew the way the business worked. Talk was that he was engaged to one of the Tully girls. Ned, the next eldest, had been spending a little bit too much time with Robert Baratheon at the Arryn's clubs to make Hannigan comfortable. The youngest boy, Benjen, was only just starting high school, so he hadn't done anything to put himself on the spiderweb of a board Mick and his team had going in the conference room, but he would soon enough. High school was always when the shady activity started, though never anything with solid enough evidence to charge any of them with. The only Stark girl, Lyanna, was supposed to be marrying Robert Baratheon later that year, according to the undercovers. This had been confirmed by Chicago PD when the truant officer had come looking for her after she'd been gone from school for two weeks and discovered that she was nowhere to be found.

Lyanna Stark had gone missing in April. Well, not technically, since the family never filed a report. They insisted they knew exactly where she was, that she was staying with an aunt in Miami. Except Rickard Stark didn't have any family or associates living within 100 miles of Miami. For the past four months, Mick and his team had operated under the assumption that Lyanna was missing, possibly dead. They'd figured her disappearance would make the family more likely to screw up, to do something they could arrest them for. Except the break hadn't come.

And then there was the matter of Brandon and Rickard.

Their bodies had been found three weeks ago, dumped in an alleyway just a few blocks south of Dragonfire, the club the Targaryens owned and operated. The bruising around Brandon's neck had been deep purple, and extended from his jaw to his collarbone. The coroner said his right shoulder had been popped clear out of its socket, like he'd been reaching for something. Rickard Stark had been burned so badly that two of Mick's partners had thrown up on the spot, and CSI had to use dental records to identify him. Mick himself felt like vomiting as he recalled the scene. And then he'd gotten the ME's final report a few days later - both men had smoke in their lungs. Rickard Stark had been burned alive, Mick's team realized, and Brandon had been made to watch.

Chicago PD had tried numerous times to contact Ned Stark, to figure out if he knew something that could help them catch Brandon and Rickard's killer. But the Starks wouldn't answer them, and in the weeks since the Stark murders, the locals had been swamped as even more Mob members had come through the morgue, most of them known to be associated with the Targaryen operation. The number of Mob homicides had gone up two hundred percent in the last three weeks, the resident genius on Mick's floor had said as he'd walked into the office that morning, and the number of people reported missing had skyrocketed, as well. Rhaegar Targaryen himself was among that number, Mick had noted a few days ago as he skimmed through the list of missing Mob associates the locals had sent over, and had been since at least June, though there were several question marks after the date. When Mick called one of the agents who was assigned to the Targaryen case to ask about it, she'd told him that the date on the file was when the undercovers had reported that he was missing, but that an official report hadn't been filed yet (and probably wouldn't be, Mick had thought to himself). She'd also told Mick that it was more than likely Rhaegar had been missing long before then, but the undercovers had only just confirmed that fact, since Aerys was incredibly paranoid. And the list of missing or dead Mob members now included several associates of the Tyrells and the Martells along with Targaryens, and a few, though far less, members of the Baratheon, Arryn, and Tully organizations.

Mick knew better than to suggest a civil war. The very suggestion could cause mass panic if he said it to the wrong person. But the more he pored over the files, and the more he stared at the disturbing photos from the Stark crime scene, the more he convinced himself that it was the only reasonable explanation. But what was the cause? Yes, Aerys was certifiably insane; it was one of the first things new agents learned when they entered the unit. But he was mostly just paranoid, and he wouldn't have done something that brutal to two high-ranking (and profitable) members of the Mafia if he didn't have cause to believe it justified. Aerys - or at least, the people who were controlling him - had to have known the backlash those murders would bring upon him. So why risk it at all? There was something Mick was missing, something staring him right in the face, but for the love of God, he couldn't figure out what the hell it was.

A knock came on his office door. He sat up, glancing over to see one of his team members, Ashley Cassel, leaning into his doorframe.

"Hey, Cassel," he said, sighing. "Whaddaya need?"

"Local PD's got something they want us to check out." Mick raised his eyebrows. "Another body. Mob member."

Mick sighed and closed his eyes. "Don't tell me another one of those Stark kids went and got himself killed," he replied, standing and grabbing his badge out of his desk drawer.

"No, it's not another Stark, but I think you'll still be interested." Cassel's eyes lit up as she spoke, and Mick recognized the devilish smile on her face as the same one she wore whenever she was onto a new lead.

"Oh, yeah? And why's that?" he replied tiredly.

"Because it's Rhaegar Targaryen."

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A/N: On another super irrelevant side-note, I don't have a beta-reader, so if anyone is interested in helping me, you should either send me a message on tumblr or PM me on here. Also, reviews make me write faster :)


	2. Switchblades, Combat Boots and Nerf Guns

Birthdays were always special days at the Stark house.

Birthdays meant spending extra time at the club, even if it was a school night. They meant gaining more knowledge about what their father was doing, and getting closer to becoming members of the Mafia in their own right. They meant one of Father's bartenders sneaking a shot of something into their drink because all of Ned's employees knew all of their birthdays. Birthdays were a whole day completely dedicated to them.

Except if your name was Jon.

Jon did remember a time when his birthday was celebrated like all his siblings ( _half_ -siblings, Catelyn would remind him). Before Cat had more children of her own, Jon was treated to special days just like Robb, since their birthdays were only a few weeks apart. As Jon got older though, he began to be shunted off to the side. His father often told him how special he was, and made sure he at least got special treatment while they were at home. But there was never any shot of alcohol in Jon's lemonade at the club, no extra time spent late at the club with his father. He was expected to wait until after Robb's birthday to learn the newest secrets of the Mafia.

Arya noticed this fairly early on. Jon's 9th birthday came and went, and he hadn't even seemed that excited about it. Later that week, she presented him with the arts and crafts project she'd been working on at preschool, finished two days early because she hadn't been able to wait. Jon smiled and ran his hand through her hair. "Thanks, little sister," he'd said, grabbing her into a giant hug and twirling her around in a circle.

Two months later, on Arya's fifth birthday, she came home from preschool to find a brand new plastic gun that fired Nerf darts. Jon swore her to secrecy, and when Cat saw her playing with it, she told her mother that she'd found it in the basement in a pile of Robb's old toys.

They'd been exchanging secret presents like that ever since. Normally all the Stark siblings would pool their efforts and buy one present for their siblings, and Jon and Arya always participated in this as well, but they found their own ways to sneak in their own presents. Most often, the presents were left on their pillows with no note and no explanation.

Except for when Arya turned thirteen.

Jon was waiting at her new wooden writing desk (a gift from her parents), feet propped up, when Arya got home from school that day. "Happy birthday, little sister," he said when she walked into her room, smiling at her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, dropping her backpack onto the floor and falling onto her bed.

"I have your present for you." Jon's eyebrows shot up, and he smiled wickedly.

"O-kay," she replied, giving him a confused look. "You could have just left it on my bed like you always do."

"Not this year." Jon stood up from her chair and walked over to shut her door. "I know we say this every year," he continued in a quieter voice, "but this time, you really can't tell your mother. Dad either. Your mother would murder me if she found out I was giving this to you, but I think it's time you had one of these." Jon sat down beside Arya on her bed and fished a small rectangular package out of his pocket, handing it to Arya. "Go on," he said, when Arya hesitated. She grabbed the box from his hands, staring at it for a few seconds before unwrapping it, all the while giving Jon uncertain glances. She opened the box and pulled out a flat, square-shaped metal box, surrounded by wood casing. "What is this?" she asked, handing it back to Jon.

"This," Jon said, pressing a button on the side that Arya hadn't noticed. A blade about five inches long and two inches wide popped out of the side, and Arya jumped backward. " - is a switchblade," he finished. He handed the blade back to her, and she ran her finger along the flat of the blade. "I know you've always wanted to play around with the big guns, but I figure we should start you out small."

Arya pressed the button on the side and retracted the blade. Then she turned to smile up at Jon. "Thank you," she said, throwing her arms around him. Jon grunted at the force of her hug. "How am I supposed to hide this from Mom and Dad, though?"

Jon withdrew from the hug. "Well, it'll fit really nicely in those new combat boots you'll be getting tonight after dinner - "

"You guys got me combat boots?" Arya asked, her eyes widening and her voice going up an octave.

"Shh!" Jon swatted at her, lightly brushing her arm. "At least act surprised when you open it tonight?"

"Deal," Arya smiled. She stared back at the switchblade, pressing the button once more. She felt her heartbeat speed up when the blade flipped out of its casing, making a satisfying noise as it cut through the air. "Thanks, Jon," she said again.

She looked back at him to find him beaming at her. "No problem, little sister." He gave her a kiss on the forehead as he stood and shook his fingers through her hair.

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The next year, when she came home from school on her fourteenth birthday, a black leather jacket was draped over her bed, the one she'd seen in a store downtown but that her mother hadn't allowed her to buy. Above the jacket sat a note written in Jon's handwriting: _This one's got a lot of inside pockets. Best make sure those are put to good use ;)_ Arya reached down into her beat up Doc Martens and dug her switchblade out of her left shoe before throwing the jacket on over her school uniform. She dropped the blade into one of the smaller right-hand pockets. After glancing into her mirror, she ran into Jon's room across the hall to give him the biggest hug it was possible for a skinny fourteen-year-old girl to give.

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A/N: So, updating twice in one day probably won't happen again lol. I just wanted to put up something besides the one short chapter that didn't really have anything to do with any of the characters in the story lol. I'll try to update at least once a week, but I will be starting college in a few weeks and may not have time to upload quite that frequently. Also, if you have any suggestions or prompts you'd like to see, let me know! I love reviews :) I know every writer on here probably says this, but reviews really do make me want to write more lol


	3. A Demonstration

A/N: Sorry this wasn't quite on time - things have been kind of crazy lately. Anyway, this chapter is based on a scene from the pilot of GOT, where Jon and Robb are teaching Bran to use a bow and arrow, and Arya interrupts their lesson. As soon as I saw the gifset of the scene on my dash, I knew I wanted to recreate it for this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter - it was a lot of fun to write!

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Arya looked quickly over her shoulder, a final check to make sure she was alone. She paused, listening for footsteps making their way towards her father's office, but the only sound she could hear was glasses distantly clinking together from the bar at the end of the hallway. She flipped up a panel in the wall behind her father's desk, typed in the password she'd watched him type a thousand times before, and watched as a small metal handle popped out of the wall to her right. Arya pulled the handle, willing the old door not to creak as she slid past the secret door and began descending the staircase that led to the firing range downstairs.

Her heart beat faster and faster as she made her way down the steps. All the way down she was sure someone would meet her on their way up, and she'd be forced to go back upstairs and sit in the club with Sansa again. Sansa was the reason she'd wanted to come down in the first place. Sansa cared too much about boys and clothes and makeup to be interesting. Arya wanted to _do_ something.

As Arya got closer she could hear the sounds of guns going off, of metal clicking together, of voices shouting back and forth to each other. She knew her father was down here, along with her brothers; Bran was getting a shooting lesson. That was another reason Arya had wanted to come down. Bran was younger than she was, and she'd never gotten lessons. Not that she hadn't learned without them. Jon had taken her down to the range a few times when Father was away and the two of them wouldn't have been missed upstairs during a late night at the club. She just couldn't believe she had to stay upstairs listening to Sansa ramble on about the every single thing Joffrey Baratheon did today while the boys had all the fun downstairs.

Arya stepped down onto the floor of the range and peeked around the corner. She saw several of her father's employees standing in a few of the stalls on the left, firing rounds into the targets on the other end. On the far wall, across from her, stood her parents, their eyes glued to the center stall where Robb and Jon stood just behind Bran. Arya watched him fire a few shots, missing the middle of the target horribly. She glanced over to the gun rack on her right - no one was watching it. _Time for a demonstration_ , she thought, smiling as she grabbed the revolver she thought of as hers off the rack before sliding across the wall to stand almost directly behind Bran.

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"It's alright, Bran, we can do it again," Robb said from behind him.

Bran sighed and set his revolver down. Humiliation crept up into his cheeks, and he felt his face flush with warmth. He wouldn't ever be Robb's second-in-command like he was supposed to be if he couldn't figure out how to fire a gun. His father was watching, he knew. He'd come in with Mother after the lesson had started and hid himself in the corner, probably hoping Bran wouldn't notice. He had. Bran shook his head, then grabbed the revolver again, aiming it at the target fifty feet away. He _had_ to do this.

"You can't overthink it," Jon said on his left. "Remember, front sight, trigger press, follow through." Bran nodded, the familiar words calming him down, and moved his index finger to rest on the trigger.

"Just clear your mind, and focus on your target," Robb added quietly. _Clear my mind, clear my mind_. Bran stared straight at his target, emptying all thoughts, picturing a bullet hitting the exact center of the target. He breathed deeply, letting his body relax.

Three loud pops echoed behind him, just as air whipped past the left side of his face. A split second later, three tightly grouped holes appeared in the target. He whirled around, gun still aimed, and found Arya mirroring his pose against the back wall, her gun smoking. The entire firing range was dead silent as the others turned around to see where the shots had come from. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jon shake his head, a smirk plain on his face. Arya relaxed slightly, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. Bran was stunned. When had _Arya_ learned to shoot like that?

"Arya," he heard his father say from the corner of the room. Bran unfroze, relaxing and turning to look at Father. His expression was stern, and Bran recognized his tone; it was the same one he used with his messengers when they told him a business deal had gone south. His father started to move in Arya's direction, and Bran glanced back over to see her give her brothers a small curtsey, then dart back toward the stairs, throwing the gun back onto an empty hook on the wall.


	4. Perfectly Normal

A/N: Hey guys, sorry it's been a while since I've posted a new chapter. Been moving into college and things have been super crazy busy. I'll try to get onto a regular posting schedule as soon as I get settled into college. Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

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As far as anyone knew, the Starks were a perfectly normal family. People, of course, knew that a family called Stark was a part of the Mob, but Ned and Catelyn made sure their friends and neighbors believed they weren't a part of _that_ family. They encouraged their children to participate in events at school, and the whole family piled into the car to watch Robb's baseball games or Sansa's ballet recitals or Bran's art shows. Cat was a member of the PTA (much to her children's dismay) and had taken her turn hosting several of the meetings (and she was damn proud at how much people looked forward to the meetings she hosted). The kids played outside in the yard with Rickon whenever he asked, no matter the season. In the spring and summer, the neighborhood kids all played baseball in the Starks' yard. In the fall, Cat listened to the rustling of leaves and her children's laughter as they jumped into piles of red and orange and yellow. And even in the cold Chicago winter, Cat could look outside and find her children (plus Jon) throwing snowballs or making snowmen.

Even though the Starks put on a show for the rest of the public, their private lives were about as normal as could be as well. Sansa and Arya argued loud enough for the whole house to hear some days, and spent the rest of those days on different floors of the house. Catelyn had given up trying to keep a lamp on the end table in the rec room after it had been broken a fifth time by Jon and Robb and Theon when a game of Super Mario Bros had gotten a bit heated. Arya had been going through a bit of a rebellious phase lately, which wasn't helped when her siblings had given her combat boots for her birthday last year. Cat had been horrified when she noticed a shock of bright blue in Arya's hair a few weeks ago but had decided it wasn't worth arguing with her about.

But some days, the Stark involvement in the Mafia was all too real.

Once or twice a month, Ned would announce during dinner that he was getting a delivery in the morning. The rest of the family would nod, and the meal would continue on as it normally did, with discussions about school and homework and extracurricular activities and occasionally teasing Sansa about her blatantly obvious crush on Joffrey Baratheon. But the next morning, all the Stark children would be up before six to be ready by seven. Catelyn would hand them all their breakfast as they made their way out the door and piled into Ned's sleek back SUV. The drive to the warehouse where Ned would pick up the drugs he distributed throughout his club would be completely silent, a stark change from the lightheartedness of riding to school in Robb's junker of a car trying to finish up homework questions and fighting over the radio station. Once they'd stopped in an abandoned warehouse, Ned would get out of the car and talk with the three men who were standing there - never the same three men, the children had noticed. Then after a few minutes, the trunk would open, and boxes upon boxes would be piled into the SUV. Not a word would be said until Ned had dropped everyone off at their respective schools. Margaery Tyrell and her cousins would inevitably make a snide comment to Jon and Robb about being dropped off by their father, which would be met with a terse reply about her family's own ties to the Mob. Joffrey Baratheon might meet Sansa as she stepped out of her father's car, and would wave and say hello to Ned before walking Sansa into school. Arya and Bran would smile and wave goodbye as they went to join their own friends. Rickon was always the one to break the deafening silence of the SUV, saying "Love you, dad," and giving him a kiss on the cheek before jumping out of the vehicle and racing toward the playground equipment.

Nobody ever talked about what happened on those delivery days. They'd learned - sometimes the hard way - that it was better to keep their mouths shut about what their parents did. Once, after Jon and Robb had turned sixteen, and their father began to show them exactly what happened with the deliveries after delivery day, they'd slipped and talked for a few minutes about it in class. The next night, when they went with their father to grab the drugs from where they'd been stored, Jon and Robb saw two figures trying to steal several pounds of crack. They'd shot the intruders on sight, but it wasn't until they were leaving that Jon and Robb realized the intruders had been two stoners from their English class. They'd spent the next week at home, and came back to school with a few fresh scars. But those incidents were never brought up again.

Because everyone knew that the Starks were a perfectly normal family.


	5. First Meeting

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I might not update this story for a few days, but I got a comment about this pairing, and I already had this written, so I wanted to upload it. And I know what some people might say - "But Bethany, don't Rhaegar and Lyanna meet at the tourney at Harrenhal?" But don't worry. I've got a plan for that. Trust me. It will come. Eventually (hopefully). Anyway, enjoy!

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Rhaegar sighed, slumping down into his seat at the long mahogany table in his father's office. He glanced at his father's seat on his right - empty, as per usual. Aerys never was fond of being early. He scanned the rest of the table, mentally identifying the men sitting around him. The entire council wasn't all here yet, but Rhaegar went through his list, the way his father had always told him to do. Mace Tyrell was on the other side of the table, two seats down from him, easily identified by his hideous bright green track suit. Rhaegar sometimes had difficulty believing the man was such a successful businessman when all he wore were _tracksuits_. Doran Martell was easing himself into a chair a few feet to Rhaegar's left - his joints were starting to get worse, Rhaegar knew. Too many nights spent keeping his youngest brother out of bar fights. Doran's sister, Elia, sat next to him. Rhaegar flashed her a smile, and her warm, dark eyes smiled back at him. Jon Arryn's solemn face glared down at the head of the table from the opposite end. Arryn liked Aerys well enough to keep the peace, but it was well-known he despised Aerys' habits - especially his constant tardiness. Steffon Baratheon sat across from Rhaegar, with his arrogant dick of a son seated next to him. Rhaegar wondered what that was about. Robert never showed up anywhere he couldn't drink, shoot, or hook up with a girl. The fact that he'd graduated high school on time was a miracle. He'd shown up to the least amount of council meetings he possibly could, and spent most of the ones he had come to trying to hide the fact that he was nodding off from his father.

Rhaegar heard a hearty laugh from down the hall that he recognized as Hoster Tully's and glanced toward the open door. Tully walked in a few seconds later, with Rickard Stark following behind. Both men had a smile on their faces, a rare thing for the two of them. As Rickard Stark and Hoster Tully made their way into their seats, Rhaegar noticed another person following behind them - a girl, he realized. His breath caught when he saw her. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into an intricate braid, small wispy curls sticking out. Her big brown eyes stared nervously across the table. Rhaegar offered her a kind smile as her eyes rested on him, and her lips parted, giving him a nervous smile. Her hand darted up to her face to tuck hair that wasn't there behind her ear. Rhaegar's smile widened, and she stared down at the floor, her hands fidgeting as she took a seat in between Rickard Stark and Robert Baratheon.

It was at this moment that his father lumbered in, trailed closely by Tywin Lannister and Rhaegar's best friend Arthur Dayne, who was on guard duty. Aerys and Tywin took their seats at the head of the table and on the right, respectively, while Arthur plopped down next to Rhaegar. Arthur had a smirk on his face Rhaegar wished he knew the reason behind. He'd probably be hearing about it after the meeting was over. When Arthur glanced over at Rhaegar, the smirk disappeared and was replaced by a confused expression. Before Rhaegar could ask what was wrong, though, his father snarled, "Alright, let's get this over with."

Rhaegar tried to pay attention as the council members talked, but his mind kept wandering back to the dark-haired girl who'd come in with Stark. More often than not, he found her eyes meeting his, and it was his turn to look away embarrassed. How could he not have noticed her before, he asked himself as his eyes glanced over her again. He was sure he would have remembered those eyes, and the way her creamy skin looked against the dark hair framing her face. She was a Stark, of that much he was certain - she looked enough like Rickard and Brandon to be related. Was she Rickard's daughter? Rhaegar didn't think Rickard had a daughter, but his father had never considered the Starks very important, and Rhaegar didn't know much about them. He tried to remember if he'd ever heard Ned or Robert talking about a girl when they were in school, but then he remembered the kind of person Robert Baratheon was - he'd been raving about a different girl nearly every time Rhaegar saw him.

It took Rhaegar a few seconds to realize the meeting was actually over. He hadn't noticed that everyone else was standing until the girl with dark hair rose from her chair and began following Rickard out the door. Rhaegar stood as well, intending to follow her out into the club to talk with her, but a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his seat. He turned around to glare at Arthur and almost stood up again, but Arthur's stony expression made him stay put until everyone else had left the room.

"What the hell was that?" Arthur asked, standing up to close the door that led out to the club.

Rhaegar frowned. "What the hell was what?"

"Stark noticed you staring at his daughter," Arthur replied, sitting on the table next to Rhaegar.

"So it _was_ Stark's daughter," Rhaegar mumbled.

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. "Were you even paying attention? Like, at all?" Rhaegar opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it, staring at the floor. "That's what I thought," Arthur continued. "Because if you had been paying attention, you'd have realized that Stark and Baratheon announced today that Robert and Lyanna have been promised to each other."

Rhaegar felt his stomach drop. "Promised?" he repeated. _Lyanna_ , a voice in the back of his head whispered. _What a beautiful name_.

"Yes, dumbass," Arthur said with an exasperated tone. "Like you and Elia are supposed to be?" Rhaegar shot Arthur a Look. That was crossing a line. "Look, man, I know you and Elia are cool about dating other people before you two eventually get married. I don't care about that. It's cool. But Robert Baratheon's intended? Is that really someone you want to go after?"

"Robert Baratheon does not concern me." Rhaegar rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at his best friend. "Really? The dude has at least three inches and a hundred and fifty pounds on you."

"Robert may have strength and size, but I have skill. If it ever came to that, which I would never let it get there, but if it did, I could handle him." Arthur still had an eyebrow cocked. "Do you really not trust me to take care of myself, Arthur? You're the one who trained me."

Arthur sighed. "I do trust you, man. Just - don't do anything that'll end with you lying dead in an alley somewhere."

Rhaegar chuckled, standing and heading toward the door. "I'll try my hardest," he said as he passed through the door just in time to watch Robert leading Lyanna out the front door of the club, hand in hand. His stomach twisted, and he felt warmth rising to his cheeks. Then he shook his head. Let Robert think he has the girl for now, Rhaegar thought. Lyanna would be his soon enough.


	6. The House with the Red Door

Hey, guys! Sorry it's taken me so long to post a new chapter - college has been so busy. Anyway, hope you enjoy this first non-Stark-centric chapter :)

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Dany dropped her bag down on the floor and glanced around at her new room. It really was magnificent, she thought - high ceilings, plush carpet, a massive walk-in closet on her left, French doors leading to a spacious balcony on her right. The bed was covered in fluffy-looking pillows, and when she jumped on the bed she could feel the mattress conforming to her body. It was everything anyone could have ever wanted.

But as hard as Dany tried, she couldn't bring herself to be happy here. Miami wasn't home, and never would be. She knew she would probably never see the home Viserys fantasized about; Chicago was too dangerous for them, with the Usurper's assassins after them even now, but that had never been home for her anyway. When she closed her eyes and pictured "home," all she saw was a row of townhouses going up a steep hill and a house with a bright red door right in the middle.

She'd loved San Francisco. The smell of the ocean would drift in off the harbor in the mornings when she and Viserys walked to school, and the two of them would hop on a cable car to go the last five miles. Every day, Dany drank in the sights and smells and sounds of the city, staring at the people, wondering what fantastic adventures their lives were full of. Willem Darry smiled at them with kind eyes, and she could heard his booming laugh echoing through the house at nights while she did her homework. Viserys would sneak into her room at the top of the stairs and tell her incredible stories about knights and princesses, of kings that rode dragons and conquered faraway lands. He told her they were descended from these dragon kings, and they would take back what was rightfully theirs, just as their great-grandfather had a hundred years ago.

Willem Darry had told her the truth when she was eleven, the first time Robert Baratheon's assassins came after them. It had been hurried, confusing - just a few sentences before one of Willem's friends had pounded on the door and told them it was "now or never." He'd kissed Dany's forehead before shoving her and her brother out of the closet they'd hidden in and into the arms of a strange man she'd seen around the house a few times before. This strange man led them to an airport and helped them board a small helicopter that had taken off seconds after they were strapped in. Dany was so nervous it seemed to her as though she'd blinked and they were landing again. As soon as Dany and her brother got out of the helicopter, however, bullets began flying toward them from all directions. They'd managed to get to a train station to take them away from wherever they'd been - Dany had never found out exactly where. She'd turned back out the window to try to wave goodbye to the man who'd pushed them through the train doors just before they closed. Instead, she'd seen his body sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the platform, riddled with holes and blood pooling underneath.

It had taken Dany nearly a week to find the courage to ask Viserys about the strange things Willem Darry had told her, and when she did, he'd roared at her, screamed and thrown things and made her feel so afraid she'd started crying. He'd stopped his raging then, when he heard her sobs, and tried to tell her gently about how Robert Baratheon had killed their brother Rhaegar, and how Jaime Lannister, Father's own guard, had killed Aerys Targaryen when he'd turned his back. Things had never been quite the same after that. He didn't visit her at nights anymore, didn't tell her the stories of the dragon kings. Dany learned to keep quiet around him - she never knew what could trigger his rage.

The two of them had been transient ever since. They'd spent the longest amount of time in New York - from Dany's fourteenth to her sixteenth birthdays. Plenty of Mafia bosses around there had heard of their father and wanted a chance to show off for the last remaining Targaryens. Mob bosses usually expected something in return for their hospitality, though, and when they found out that Dany and her brother didn't have anything to offer them, they kicked the Targaryen heirs onto the street to find another boss to leech off for a little while.

Voices outside her room brought Dany out of her reminiscing. She raised herself up onto her elbows; she recognized Viserys' voice - loud, presumptuous. The other voice was probably the Magister, she thought, a chill running up her spine. Mob bosses always wanted something, Dany knew that, but they'd been living with him all summer and he hadn't made a single request of them. He'd offered them his home, free of charge, fed them, made sure their every need was taken care of. But the Magister's smile didn't always make its way up to his eyes, and the way he looked at Dany when he thought she wasn't looking sent waves through her stomach that made her feel like passing out. He and Viserys had been spending a lot of time together recently, talking in hushed tones in the Magister's study and stopping their conversation when she walked by. Dany had heard a few whispers from the servants around the house that the Magister was trying to strike a new deal with one of the street gangs in town, the Dothraki, and Viserys had something to do with that, Dany was sure of it. Quiet as a mouse, Dany climbed off her bed and snuck across the room to listen at her closed door.

"... certain Drogo will give me an army?" Dany heard her brother saying. She sighed. _This again._

"Oh, quite certain," the Magister replied in his soft, breathy voice. "The Dothraki are the largest gang in the city, and they're all fiercely loyal to their leader. If you want an army, your sister is the surest way to get it."

Dany felt the blood drain from her face. Her mind began racing, going in a million directions at once. "And he _will_ like her?" Viserys asked.

The Magister laughed. "Have a little faith, young prince." Dany would have laughed at the name if she wasn't so shocked. Had the Magister learned of the stories Viserys had told her when they were little? "As soon as he meets Daenerys, he'll be enchanted. I told you, she is the key to our whole plan."

Dany's heart was racing, and she realized just how loudly she was breathing. She felt cold all over. She slumped down to the floor, leaning up against the door with her knees under her chin. Her eyes began to water, but she brushed the tears away. Viserys hadn't made her cry in years, and she would not break her streak now.

Surely her brother wouldn't do this, she thought, attempting to slow her breathing. Viserys had taken some ludicrous steps in the past to try to regain his throne, to be sure; Dany shuddered at the memories. But his schemes had never involved her before. Viserys' voice echoed in her head, giving his answer when she'd asked why they were moving to Miami in the first place. _There's someone there who can help us out of this mess,_ he'd said to her. _Someone who can guarantee me my army, no matter what I have to give up to get it_. Goosebumps covered her body as she felt the first tear slide down her cheek.

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	7. Burn It to the Ground

Margaery sighed, staring at her grandmother's back. Grandma Olenna was in the middle of a particularly long-winded rant about - well, Margaery wasn't quite sure anymore. It had started about ambition, pride, drive - things that had been pounded into Margaery's head since she was a child. Things her grandmother was obsessed with, things Margaery strived to embody. Things that didn't jive with getting a C on a calculus test. All because she'd left her backpack on the table in between school and violin lessons and her grandmother didn't have any concept of privacy. Margaery glanced at the clock on her bedside table - 10:15. _Great_. With her luck, she'd be in bed by one, maybe two, after finishing up a rough draft of an essay for AP Lit and answering a few pages worth of AP Bio lab questions and reading some chapters for German and studying for her test in AP World tomorrow …

"Am I boring you, child?"

Margaery opened her eyes. She couldn't remember when she'd closed them. She looked up at her grandmother, keeping her expression even. "Of course not, Grandmother," she said sweetly, offering a small smile to hide the way her stomach was twisting at the thought of her grandmother's reprimands.

Olenna rolled her eyes. "Nonsense." She sat down on Margaery's desk chair. "You've been yawning ever since you came in here, and I just caught you sleeping."

"I was not aslee-"

"Don't try to lie to me, dear, you were asleep." Her grandmother paused, and Margaery waited. She'd learned it was best to let her get the last word in. "I'm not upset because you got a C on a test."

Margaery raised her eyebrows. _Then why have you been ranting for the last forty-five minutes?_ "You're not?"

"Of course not. I'm upset because this is the third C you've gotten on something in less than a week." Margaery kept her face even, but she could feel her cheeks flush with warmth. "Have you forgotten what we're trying to accomplish?"

Margaery smiled. Her grandmother always ended up here eventually. "I could never forget that."

"Then remind me." Her grandmother's dark eyes bore into her, and her tone made Margaery's stomach tighten, but she inhaled deeply and recited the words her grandmother had taught her, long before she'd been taught their meaning.

"When we began, we were looked down upon, thought of as upstarts taking what was never ours. We are still seen that way, and it is past time that this view is changed. We must make them love us."

Slowly, a smile spread across her grandmother's face. "Very good, dear. And how do we make them love us?"

Margaery knew the answer to this question as well. "We remind them that we took the same oaths they did, even if ours were decades apart. We show them that we are just as serious as they are about the business. We run the best damn clubs this city has ever seen and fight tooth and nail up to the top - to hell with the cost."

Her grandmother's eyes were positively gleaming. "Exactly. And what are you doing to get to the top? Getting C's?" Once again, Margaery felt her face flush but she waited for her grandmother to finish. She'd been through this situation enough times to know that the Queen of Thorns was about to give a speech. Her grandmother stood up and moved to sit next to Margaery on her bed. "You are going to graduate at the top of your class and go to school at the best university in the country. You're going to get the best education money can buy, and when you come back from law school, you're going to work those damn cops over until they don't know up from down. You are the key, Margaery. You will earn the respect of those damned Lannisters and Baratheons and Martells and every other family who thinks they're somehow better than we are. That _is_ still what you want, isn't it?"

Margaery smiled widely and nodded. "Of course, Grandmother. It's all I've ever wanted."

The smile on her grandmother's face almost looked demented. "Then you know what you have to do." Her grandmother leaned in to give her a hug, and Margaery let her face relax into an expression of distaste for a fraction of a second. She put the smile back on her face as her grandmother released her and stood. "Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, Grandmother."

That night, she studied like she'd never studied before. Her grandmother was right, after all; she'd lost sight of her mission. Not the one her family had for her - she'd given up on fulfilling that years ago. She knew her grandmother's real plan was to marry her off to whichever Baratheon gave Margaery the best chance of becoming the next Cersei Lannister. No, Margaery would go to Harvard Law School, just like her grandmother had always told her. She would become the best damn lawyer she possibly could be, and when she came back to Chicago, she would use all the knowledge she'd accumulated over her lifetime - both of the inner workings of the Mob and the inner workings of the law - to burn the entire Mafia to the ground.

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A/N: Please leave reviews! I love knowing what you guys think of my story :)


	8. Ice and Fire

A/N: Hey guys! Hope you enjoy your first Lyanna chapter - I've had a lot of fun writing this! :)

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Lyanna glanced around the club, at the mass of people jumping in time to the pounding music. She sighed, raising her (unfortunately non-alcoholic) drink to her lips and tipping it bottoms up.

"You alright, miss?" the bartender, whose name escaped her, asked.

"Bored," she replied tersely, glancing out at the club again, looking for Robert. He'd left her at the bar over an hour ago, saying he would be back in "just a sec." He thought Lyana hadn't seen his eyes follow a pretty blonde girl as she passed next to them just seconds earlier. And look, there he was, his shock of dark hair standing out against the blonde as he grinded against her. Lyanna turned away, white hot tears filling her eyes. She wiped them away quickly, inwardly cursing herself. She wasn't heartbroken over Robert - she was furious at him. Less than six hours ago, he'd stood before Aerys Targaryen and announced that he intended to marry Lyanna sometime in the not-so-distant future. She remembered what she'd said to Ned before she'd left with their father for the council meeting. _He makes promises and forgets them before the day is done_. Ned had rolled his eyes, but he hadn't denied it; they both knew Robert well enough to see the truth of that statement.

"Drink, please," she heard a voice say on her right. She turned her head to see none other than Rhaegar Targaryen standing just a few feet from her. Odd. She'd only ever seen him a few times, and never outside of Dragonfire, the Targaryen club. The first time she'd gotten a proper look at him had been this afternoon at the council meeting. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her, Lyanna recalled. She'd felt his eyes on her for the majority of the time she'd been there. The few times she'd dared to look him in the eye, he'd turned away, but his eyes always returned. She wasn't sure she minded, though. Sure, she got stares in school, but mostly from creepy guys. Lyanna knew how to deal with stares like that. Having an attractive guy staring at you - well, that was another experience entirely, one that made her stomach do backflips and her heart race.

Rhaegar glanced in her direction, and she realized that she was the one staring now. She immediately looked down at her shoes, feeling her cheeks heat up. "And a drink for the lady, as well," she heard him say.

Her head shot up. "No, I'm not -" she started to say, but Rhaegar pressed a finger to his lips and winked at her, sending a wave of electricity through her body.

 _Calm down_ , she chided herself. _You're in_ Robert's _club, for God's sake_. She looked out at the dance floor again and found Robert, still grinding on the blonde girl. _Ah, screw it_.

The bartender set two tall glasses down in front of Rhaegar. He picked both of them up and closed the distance between himself and Lyanna, sitting down on the barstool next to hers. "Thank you," she said quietly when Rhaegar set her drink down in front of her.

He smiled at her, a wide smile so unlike the coy ones he'd offered her earlier. She felt her stomach turning. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," Rhaegar said. His voice was smooth, low and deep, and she had a crazy desire to hear him sing. He held out his hand. "Rhaegar Targaryen, heir to all of Chicago's organized crime."

Lyanna laughed and took his hand. It was firm, and she could feel calluses on his fingers. "Lyanna Stark," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. Whiskey, she recognized, pleasantly surprised. The liquid warmed her throat on the way down. "Heir to … this, apparently." She gestured around at the club.

Rhaegar chuckled, a low deep sound from that back of his throat that was accompanied by just a hint of a smirk, and it was at that point that Lyanna knew she was done for.

It felt as if they talked to each other for hours. Occasionally, Lyanna would remember where she was, and think of Robert, but every time she did, she glanced over at the dance floor again, where she could see him grinding on another girl or kissing another girl's neck. That didn't happen very often, though. Rhaegar kept her mind as far away from Robert as possible. Rhaegar was charming, funny, sensitive, sweet; things Robert could never - would never - be. Sometimes, when Rhaegar talked, he would take her hand, or rest his hand on her shoulder, and she'd feel butterflies swirl in her stomach. She couldn't remember feeling like this before, this giddiness coursing through her, making her want to laugh, to smile, to flip her hair off her shoulder to draw Rhaegar's attention to it. She found herself returning his touches, even wanting to go further. And the more they talked, the more she noticed a sadness behind his eyes, a melancholy that never quite went away, no matter how hard he laughed. She wondered what had caused that, what burden lay behind those haunting violet eyes. Eventually, he hopped down off the bar stool and offered her his hand. She took it, and he led her through the club, down a dark hallway, and into a pitch black storage closet, where he pushed her up against a wall and pressed his lips to hers, his long fingers threading through her thick curls.

"I've been waiting to do that all night," he whispered when they broke apart, his breath hot on her lips.

"Then why didn't you do it sooner? she asked, grabbing Rhaegar's collar and pulling him back down to her. Her heart was racing, and the alcohol was making her vision blur around the edges. She couldn't get enough of him, of the taste of mint and whiskey and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke.

"Couldn't have Robert noticing us sneaking off," he said into her ear as his kisses began trailing down her neck.

Lyanna sighed. _Robert again_. "Let's not talk about Robert. In fact -" Lyanna pushed Rhaegar backward to sit on a table on the opposite wall. He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips as she walked toward him. "Let's not talk at all," she whispered before she kissed him, her hands grasping at his silver-blonde hair.

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	9. Love and Bar Nights

A/N: Hey guys, so sorry I just kind of disappeared for a few weeks. School has been kicking my ass recently. But - this chapter is a bit longer than normal, so hopefully that makes up for it? I really hope you guys like this chapter, I've been working really hard on it :) Anyway, enjoy!

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Arya didn't know what it felt like to be "in love."

Sansa had described it to her numerous times before, in explicit detail. She talked about the way your heart would start beating faster, and your mind would race and you couldn't come up with anything to say. She said you were supposed to get butterflies in your stomach every time you talked to him, and even thinking about seeing him made you nervous. She said that seeing his smile would just make everything feel right, as if the world was better with him in it. The 'him' Sansa always talked about was Joffrey, Arya knew. Sansa had never admitted to that, but Arya could tell. She'd noticed Sansa doodling 'Sansa Baratheon' on her notebooks and had to stop herself from gagging.

But Arya had never experienced that for herself. She never paid attention to guys as much as some of her other friends did. Sometimes, when her friends hung out at the mall, she looked at the guys they called hot, trying to see if they would make her feel any of the things Sansa had talked about. But Arya wasn't like Sansa or any of Sansa's friends, who could get guys to give them their phone number in ten minutes. Sure, boys noticed Arya - the blue streak in her hair made her 'edgy,' apparently - but she could never make any kind of connection with them.

Except for Gendry.

Gendry had started hanging out at the club with Jon and Robb a couple of years ago. Normally, Jon and Robb weren't allowed to bring around any friends that weren't with the Mob (they might talk), but Gendry had 'connections,' her father had told her, so he was allowed to stay as long as he kept his mouth shut. Her father had even offered him a job tending the bar once he'd found out Gendry was practically homeless (Arya didn't know many of the details, but his mother had died when he was pretty young and he'd never known his father, and he ran away from his foster home when he was eight), even though Gendry was underage. He was Arya's favorite person to talk to when she was stranded at the bar on nights when Jon was busy and Sansa was her only other company. They made fun of the stupid things people did when they were drunk, but they also talked about the best kind of guns to use in different situations. Gendry was different than her brothers - he thought it was cool that she was interested in learning how to fight, and he didn't want to try to protect her from the rest of the world. They talked about anything and everything, until Cat had to practically drag her away from the bar at the end of the night.

And lately, Arya couldn't stop thinking about how much she wanted to kiss him.

The first time it had happened, she was so surprised by the feeling she'd locked herself in the bathroom for the rest of the night. It had happened so quickly - one second they'd been laughing about how incredibly wasted some guy at the bar was, and the next, she was imagining how it would feel to lean across the bar and put her lips against his.

She didn't think it was love, though. It couldn't be. Gendry was her _friend_. She'd never thought of him as anything else. They were the ones who sat in the corner of the bar laughing at drunk people and sometimes they talked about the mysteries of the universe together. But Arya didn't want a boyfriend. She didn't want to hold his hand all the time as they walked down the hallway at school or go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. Those were things Sansa would do, and things Sansa would want, and she most certainly wasn't Sansa. Sure, Arya and Gendry were close, but Arya liked what they had - it felt _good_. Whatever this weird feeling was, Arya decided, it was best not to bring it up.

Within the past few weeks, though, Arya started to suspect that maybe Gendry wanted something more from her as well. He smiled at her more, at ordinary things she did. He was cracking more jokes than before, nearly every sentence, as though it was all he could do to hear her laugh. A couple of times, too, he'd tried to touch her hand. Arya had nearly let him, too, but then she realized what was happening and pulled her hand away. And the way he looked at her - God, it was so intense she thought she could scream. _Was this flirting?_ she asked herself when she replayed their conversations late at night as she tossed and turned.

Even if it was, that was as far as their relationship - whatever their relationship was - could go, Arya knew. Her parents would never approve of someone like Gendry. He was fine as long as he tended the bar and generally stayed out of the way. Dating a Mafia boss's daughter - that wouldn't do. Her parents probably had a list a mile long of people they would rather Arya date before Gendry. Likely, they already had someone picked out for her to be promised to when she got older. Robb was their main concern right now, and Sansa, too, to a lesser extent, but eventually Arya would become a priority, and she would be promised to whichever Mob boss's son made them the best metaphorical deal. Arya hated it, and protested loudly every time the subject was brought up, but there wasn't much she could think of to do about it.

Once, after a particularly bad fight with her mother on the subject, Arya forced Gendry to pour her a shot. He'd been more than willing to give her alcohol before then, but that night he flat out refused. He only gave in when Arya threatened to climb over the counter and start mixing drinks, and even then he insisted on only giving her one, on the condition she'd get a large glass of scotch afterward. Once Gendry's shift ended, Arya tried to get him to drink with her, but by that time she was so drunk she couldn't string together a convincing argument. They sat on a ratty couch in the corner of the club until the wee hours of the morning, long after her family had gone home for the night. Gendry had to drive her home in his junker of a car. Most of that night was a blur, but Arya remembered, in vivid detail, what happened once Gendry's car pulled into her driveway.

"You know what you should do now?" she asked once the car stopped moving.

He rolled his eyes and smiled at her. "Make sure you get back up to your room safely?"

She shook her head. "Nope," she replied, popping the 'p.' She leaned in close to him, and he didn't back away. "You should kiss me," she whispered.

It was silent for a long time after she said that, but Gendry stayed where he was, inches from her face. "Arya, you're drunk."

She giggled, and moved closer to him. "So?"

" _So_ , you're saying stuff you don't mean right now. You'll wake up tomorrow and you'll be really embarrassed about this."

She shifted, angling herself so she was facing Gendry, and cocked her head. "Who said I didn't mean it?" Gendry gave her a confused look. "I think about it a lot," she continued. "I just look at you and …" she brought her hand up to his jaw and he inched forward toward her. He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips.

She saw Gendry's eyes glance toward her house. "Jon is standing on the porch," he whispered.

"I don't care," she slurred before pressing her lips to his.

Gendry was the one who eventually pulled away, after what felt like forever. He took her hand, which was still resting on his jawline. "Goodnight, Arya," he said quietly, his voice low and husky in a way Arya had never heard before.

She sighed. "Goodnight," she whispered back, sliding out of the car and stumbling toward the front door where, sure enough, Jon was waiting for her on the porch.

As she lay in bed that night, trying to fall asleep, she brought her fingers up to her lips, remembering the way his mouth had felt against hers. _Oh yeah_ , she thought just before she slipped into unconsciousness, _I'll_ definitely _have to try that again when I'm sober_.


	10. Punishment

Oh my god, I'm SO SORRY I took so long to publish this chapter. Schoolwork has consumed my life for the past two months and I haven't had hardly any time to work on this story. I just got finished with my finals, though, so I have almost a full month where I have no plans but to write as much as I can for this. I'm going to try to get back to a regular posting schedule (fingers crossed) but I'm not making any promises. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

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It was a swelteringly hot August day when Jaime Lannister killed Aerys Targaryen.

In all honesty, Jaime was surprised he hadn't done it sooner. After Rhaegar's death, the end of the Targaryens was virtually inevitable. Taking out the Targaryen patriarch would speed along the process of getting someone else to rule the Mafia, but his father had insisted Jaime wait until his men made a move. But Jaime Lannister was not a patient man.

You're not a man yet, his father's voice echoed in his head. He rolled his eyes. He might not be a man in the eyes of the law, or even in the eyes of his father, but Jaime Lannister had heard things, seen things, done things other men couldn't possibly imagine. He'd heard, in explicit detail, exactly what Rhaegar Targaryen had been doing with Lyanna Stark this past year. Rhaegar trusted Arthur far too much - the Guard was a brotherhood, and nothing stayed hidden from brothers for long. If anyone even thought about doing that to Cersei, Jaime would make sure the walls of the Rock were painted in their blood. Jaime understood Brandon Stark in that respect. When Brandon Stark had first burst into Aerys' office during a meeting and demanded Lyanna be returned to him, Jaime had thought him the most foolish man he'd ever seen. But as foolish and headstrong as Brandon had been, no one deserved the death Aerys had given him and his father. Jaime could still hear their screams. In his dreams, while he was awake - it didn't matter anymore. Brandon and Rickard Stark haunted him wherever he went.

That was when Jaime knew it was time to get out, and his father agreed with him. Tywin hadn't been at the council meeting that day, but when Jaime told his father what had happened, he'd seen the first true sign of fear he'd ever seen on his father's face. But that had been almost a month ago, and it had been two weeks since Robert had killed Rhaegar in a duel. What his father was waiting for, Jaime hadn't the slightest idea.

Aerys shifted in his seat, and Jaime was pulled back into the real world. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back. Jaime had thought it wasn't possible for Aerys's office to get any more tense than it had been before this whole mess had started, but he'd been sorely mistaken. He thought if he reached out, he'd be able to feel the tension in the air. Aerys had gotten worse ever since Rhaegar's death, lashing out at the slightest sound and scratching his hands raw. Aerys's paranoia had also increased drastically. He wouldn't let anyone carry a gun in his presence, except for the Guard. And he wouldn't let Jaime out of his sight. With Darry dead, Barristan in the hospital, and Arthur, Oswell, and Gerold off doing god-only-knew-what, it wasn't too hard to figure out why - and of course there was the added bonus of knowing that Aerys keeping Jaime close was a surefire way to get under Tywin's skin.

The door squeaked open. Aerys flinched. Lewyn Martell peeked his head in through the door. Jaime wondered if he was afraid to come any closer. "Sir?" he said softly.

Aerys lifted his head and leered at Lewyn. "Yes?" he snarled.

"Tywin Lannister is outside. What would you like us to do?"

Jaime's heartbeat sped up. Here it was.

Aerys straightened in his chair, seemingly pleased by the news. "Tywin Lannister finally came to his senses, eh? Let him in. I'll hear what he has to say." Lewyn nodded, closing the door gently behind him.

Jaime had to struggle to keep his breathing even. His mind was racing. He had no idea what was coming next. He felt cold sweat drip down his temple.

Aerys chuckled, making a move to stand. "Looks like Tywin's come running back to me," he said to Jaime. Jaime hoped his face didn't reveal the panic going on in his head. "I'm anxious to see your old man b-"

Jaime never got to hear what Aerys thought Tywin would do when he got into the office. Aerys was cut off by three quick gunshots coming from the front of the club. After a few seconds, more gunfire started up, each shot coming one after the other, accompanied by the occasional shout. Jaime felt his mouth drop open in spite of himself. _This_ was what his father had planned? An assault?

Aerys turned his head around to look at Jaime, his face contorted into an expression of rage Jaime had only seen one other time - just before Brandon and Rickard Stark had died. Jaime froze. "You …" he heard Aerys whisper. _"BASTARD!"_ Aerys screamed at Jaime, jumping out of his chair and charging forward.

Jaime was so stunned by Aerys's quickness he didn't have a chance to react before Aerys had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against a wall. "I always knew you Lannisters were untrustworthy," Aerys snarled, his face so close to Jaime's that Jaime could smell his rancid breath. Aerys slammed Jaime against the wall again, and his vision blurred when his head crashed into the drywall. Jaime swung his fist around, hitting Aerys in the side of the face. Aerys released Jaime, who lunged, tackling Aerys to the floor. More punches. Aerys reached down to Jaime's side, trying to grab the gun out of his holster. Jaime tried to get Aerys's hands off of it, but the pistol slipped out of the holster and slid across the floor. Both men scrambled for the gun, but Aerys managed to grab a hold of it, pinning Jaime to the ground with his own gun pointed in his face. Aerys paused, his face twisting into a smile, giving Jaime a chance to grab the gun and turn it around so when Aerys pulled the trigger, it fired directly into his own stomach.

Aerys's smile remained plastered on his face even after he'd shot himself. He fell over, landing on the floor with a dull thud, and Jaime pushed his legs off, standing up and staring down at Aerys. Blood began pooling on the wooden floor underneath him, and Jaime could hear small noises with each ragged breath that sounded eerily like laughter. The door burst open, and Jaime jumped backward. His father came in, gun in hand, followed by Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. Tywin lowered his gun when he noticed Jaime. Jaime saw his father's gaze fall to where Aerys laid sprawled on the floor, the ghostly imprint of a smile still etched onto his face.

"What happened?" Tywin asked in a low voice. Jaime opened his mouth, wanting to answer, but no words would come. Tywin shook his head. "Well, that works about as well as anything, I suppose," he muttered.

"So there's no punishment for his crimes against us?" Clegane growled. Jaime noticed a large red stain that covered most of his shirt, and wondered absently just what kind of punishment he had in mind.

The room was silent for a long moment before Tywin answered, looking down at Aerys' body. "He was killed by a seventeen-year-old boy on his own Guard." Tywin met Jaime's gaze, and Jaime felt his blood run cold. "I think that's punishment enough, don't you?"

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Reviews give me life :)


	11. Future Talk

A/N: So, this chapter got a lot longer and ... angsty-er than I expected. But on the bright side, having time to write means I can actually have a regular posting schedule. Although, since next Friday is Christmas, and I'm spending Christmas with my grandparents who live in the middle of nowhere, it's more than likely I won't have a chapter up next Friday. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

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Jon let his backpack slide off his shoulder and onto the floor the second he got into his room and fell face-first onto his bed. He breathed in the scent of the laundry detergent Catelyn used on all their clothes, which, even though he despised the woman, made him feel far more comfortable than he had at school. He lay there for a few seconds, letting the scent of the laundry detergent overwhelm his senses, before he realized that the position he'd fallen into was not very comfortable, with his legs still mostly hanging off the edge and his hand falling asleep underneath his body. He shifted, facing the wall and closing his eyes, hoping sleep would overtake him so he could stop replaying what had happened in Mr. McIver's office over and over again.

Just as he was beginning to feel the waves of unconsciousness sneak up, he heard his door creak open. _Can I get some privacy in this house for five goddamn minutes?_ he thought, rolling over and preparing to yell at Arya or Robb or whoever dared to disturb him until he noticed a streak of red hair peeking through the crack in his door. He smiled in spite of himself and sat up. "Hey," he said softly.

Ygritte pushed the door open and walked in. "Hey."

"Who let you in?" Even though they'd been together for over a year, his family (read: Catelyn Stark) was still uncomfortable around Ygritte, and it was an unspoken rule that she wasn't allowed in the house (even though Robb's new girlfriend Jeyne had already been invited over for dinner twice in the three weeks they'd been dating).

"Mrs. Stark, actually. She seemed really out of it, is everything okay?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, she just found out her sister's husband died. He was a close friend of hers and my father's. Don't worry, though, I'm sure she'll be back to her normal ice queen routine in a few days."

Ygritte gave him a pointed look and crossed the room to join Jon on his bed. "She can't be that bad."

"Trust me, she is. She only acts like she's nice around you because she doesn't want anyone to know that she's a raging bitch. She's made it perfectly clear that if she had any say in the matter, I'd be out on the street in two seconds flat." Jon glanced at Ygritte's still-pointed expression and sighed. "Sorry. I know you didn't come here to argue with me about Catelyn Stark."

Ygritte chuckled. "You're right." There was a moment of silence, and Ygritte began running her fingernails gently across Jon's back. He relaxed almost instantly. "You were really distracted at school today. Did something happen?"

Jon smiled. Ygritte always managed to bring up the one thing he didn't want to talk about (or think about, or remember at all) in less than two minutes of conversation. He shifted uncomfortably before answering. "I, uh, had a meeting with the guidance counselor this morning."

"How'd that go?"

Jon bit his lip, trying to decide how specific he should get.

"That well, huh?"

Jon gave her a gentle shove. Her resulting giggles brought a smile to his face. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he started idly playing with her hair. He breathed deeply, gathering up his courage, and said, "He told me it was too late to start applying anywhere, and that even if I did my grades aren't good enough to get me in anywhere, and I should just give up on the idea of college to save myself the disappointment."

Jon felt Ygritte stiffen next to her. The silent tension in the room was almost more than he could bear. "McIver said all that?"

"Not in so many words, but basically, yeah."

Ygritte reached across his lap and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Jon."

Jon shook his head. "It's not like it's your fault." His mind wandered back to the other things he'd been thinking that day, when his mind hadn't been bombarded with replaying that god-awful meeting. "I've been thinking …" he started, biting his lip. He'd been mulling over this for a while, but he'd never told anyone before. It felt weird to try to say out loud. "I'm not sure if college is what I want to do after graduation."

This statement made Ygritte sit up straight and shift around so she was facing Jon. "What do you mean?" she asked, a confused expression clouding her features.

Jon took a deep breath again. "I've been thinking about joining the Watch."

Ygritte's eyebrows furrowed even deeper down, and her nose crinkled up. "Is that another Mob thing I'm not supposed to know about?"

 _Why is she so cute when she's not trying to be?_ Jon thought as he found himself smiling at her again. "It's an order of undercover Mob guys within the police force," he started to explain. "They mostly get intel on how much the police know about us, if they're planning a raid on a warehouse with merchandise in it, that kind of thing. My uncle Ben's in it, and he's done really well. He's gotten pretty high up within the police force. I think they might have promoted him to detective. And I was thinking - I could bring Ghost along, and he could get trained to be a drug dog, and we could work together -" he stopped himself, noticing Ygritte was beaming at him. "What?"

"You're really cute when you get excited about something, you know that?" Jon beamed back at her, leaning over and kissing her. He felt her smile against his lips. "I thought you were going to be Robb's second-in-command," she said after they broke apart. "What happened to that plan?"

The sinking feeling Jon had been experiencing all day crept back into his stomach. "It's complicated," he replied, hoping against hope that would make Ygritte drop the subject.

"Hey, I listened to your four-hour-long explanation of how the Mafia works."

Jon chuckled. That she had, he thought, recalling the incident. It was hard to hide a secret that big when your dad was _the_ Ned Stark, and Ygritte was an endless fountain of questions. "Fair point." He bit his lip, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. "A lot of it has to do with the fact that I'm … that Catelyn Stark isn't my mother."

"Oh," Ygritte replied quietly. She glanced down at Jon's bedspread. "I forget how important that is sometimes."

Jon sighed. "I wish I could." It was silent for a long time. Jon heard a door slam shut upstairs. He hadn't realized anyone else was home. "There's another reason I want to join the Watch." He peeked over at Ygritte again, who was raising an eyebrow at him. "It might help me find my mother."

Ygritte rolled her eyes and put a hand on her forehead. "Jon -" she started, obviously exasperated.

"Don't even start, Ygritte -" but she cut him off.

"You've been looking for this woman for years and you haven't been able to find her. What makes you think joining the police is going to make any difference?"

"Policemen have access to all kinds of sealed documents," Jon started. He'd been ready to make this argument. "There'll be incident reports and surveillance notes and a whole list of things I don't have right now that could at least give me some kind of clue. Do you want me to just give up looking?"

"I want you to be able to see reason, Jon," she said. "I don't know as much about your family as you do, but I'm pretty sure if Ned Stark is keeping something from you, it's for your own good."

"Then at least tell me why it has to be a secret," Jon fired back. "He can't even give me that. He just gives me these bullshit cop-out answers that never do anything but make me want to find out who she is even more."

"Did you ever think that maybe he's embarrassed? Or ashamed? That maybe it's just easier for him not to think about?"

"Then why keep me around?" Jon asked, trying very hard to keep his voice to a normal volume. "Wouldn't it be easier to just put me in an orphanage and forget about me altogether? Why have me here as a constant reminder?"

" _I don't know_ ," Ygritte said, with so much intensity Jon couldn't make himself come up with any witty retort. Ygritte sighed, running her fingers through her hair before she continued. "I'm worried about you Jon. You've been obsessed with finding your mother ever since I met you, and it hurts to watch you get so excited over some new lead you've found and then get crushed when it doesn't pan out. I'm so afraid that if you ever do find her, you will have put her up on so high a pedestal that she won't be anything but a disappointment to you." She paused, and Jon let the words sink in. "I just don't want you to get hurt over this." She reached out and grabbed his hand.

Jon smiled, and began rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. "I didn't know this affected you so much."

"Of course it affects me," Ygritte replied. "You're my boyfriend and I love you and I would do anything to make this better."

"I know you would." Jon let the silence sit for a while, thinking. "I just want to know who she is," he finally said. "Even if I never get to see her or talk to her - just to say I know who she is."

Ygritte nodded, seemingly resigned to the whole thing. She glanced up from looking at their intertwined hands. "So you're really gonna do this?"

"Do what?" a familiar voice said from the direction of the door - which Jon now realized was still open. He turned his head to see Robb draped against his doorframe. "Hey, Ygritte," he said smoothly.

"Hi, Robb."

"Jon, Dad needs us over at the club for something. Can we take your car? Mine still won't run."

"Shocker," Jon smirked. He leaned over to give Ygritte a kiss on the forehead. "We'll talk at school tomorrow?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She untangled their fingers and stood. "See you tomorrow," she said as she walked past Robb out the door.

"What exactly are you gonna do?" Robb asked once Ygritte had started up the stairs. "Does this have something to do with that meeting you had with McIver this morning?"

Jon stood and smiled up at Robb, not saying anything as he grabbed his keys from his desk and walked out the door.

"What the hell, man?" Jon heard as he began ascending the stairs. "You're gonna tell your girlfriend but you won't tell me?"

"If you don't get up here in five seconds, I'm leaving you!" Jon shouted down the stairs.

"Are you gonna tell me?" Robb shouted back up at him.

"Maybe, if you get your ass in the car." Jon began walking, chuckling when he heard footsteps bounding up the stairs.

"So," Robb said when he finally caught up to Jon, just as they stepped outside into the brisk mid-March air. "What is it you were gonna tell me?"

Jon sighed. "Well …"

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A/N: Please remember to leave a review and let me know what you think :)


	12. Confrontations

A/N: Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating, and happy new year if I don't see you guys before then :) Hope you guys enjoy!

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"I'm not _sleeping_ with Rhaegar Targaryen," Lyanna insisted for the third time. It wasn't technically a lie, she told herself, remembering the feeling of Rhaegar's mouth hot on hers, his long fingers weaving through her hair, caressing her waist - _Calm down_ , she chided herself, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Multiple people saw you two talking together -"

"And that's all we were doing, Ned. Talking." Lyanna was tired of this conversation. Ned had been grilling her about it for the past ten minutes, probably on the orders of their father. Rickard Stark had never liked to deal with any of her "shenanigans" as he called them.

"Bartender called it flirting," Ned shot back, an eyebrow raised.

Lyanna sighed. "Maybe it was," she admitted, hoping that would let her off the hook. "The guy bought me a drink, and after that the details get a little fuzzy."

"So it's possible you could have slept with him."

"I'm not an idiot, Ned," she replied, exasperated. "I wouldn't sleep with someone who wasn't Robert at Robert's club."

Ned sighed, his expression suddenly softening. "Listen, Lya, I believe you. But - I don't know if Robert will."

 _So this is an errand for_ Robert? she thought to herself. "Well, then that's Robert's problem, isn't it?" Lyanna rolled her eyes. "You know, Robert probably slept with whatever girl he was with last night. Are you gonna have this conversation with him, too?" she asked, an edge to her tone.

Her brother's mouth set into a hard line. "You know that's different."

"Really? Why?" she asked, feeling her heartbeat speed up. "Why is Robert held to such different standards than I am? Why can he sleep around as much as he wants when I get questioned by the honor police whenever there's a rumor going around that I was maybe flirting with Rhaegar Targaryen?"

"Because Robert is not being accused of sleeping with the person who will rule the Mafia someday."

"That's utter _bullshit_ ," Lyanna snarled at her brother. "I shouldn't be expected to keep myself pure for someone who's probably gotten at least one girl pregnant with the amount of women he's slept with." She'd meant it as an offhand comment, but she noticed Ned stiffen and look down at his shoes. She felt the blood drain from her face. "No," she said, feeling her stomach twist into knots. Ned wouldn't look at her. "What the _fuck_?" she screamed, hoping their father wasn't home. "When were you - _were_ you even going to tell me?"

She watched her brother squirm. He was barely able to look her in the eye when he finally said, "It wasn't my secret to tell. Robert didn't want to hurt you - he loves you so much, Lyanna -"

"Oh, save it, Ned," Lyanna interrupted. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. "You can tell me all you want about how much Robert thinks he loves me, and how much he wants me to be happy, but you'll just be wasting your breath. Robert can say he loves me all he wants - it obviously doesn't change a damn thing about him." She shook her head. "Now please get out of my room before I throw something and accidentally give you a concussion."

That finally broke Ned's solemn expression. He chuckled as he turned around to exit. When he reached her door, he stopped. "I'm s-"

"Out."

Ned nodded and sighed before walking out of her room and back up the stairs.

As soon as she was sure Ned was upstairs, she walked over and slammed her door shut, feeling a bit of satisfaction as it banged against her door frame. Her rage came back quickly though. She felt her cheeks get hot, and the adrenaline coursing through her made her want to throw something. As she glanced around her room, she saw the heirloom comb Robert had given her yesterday as an announcement gift sitting on her vanity. She grabbed the comb and was about to hurl it across the room when she noticed a bright green sheet of paper sitting where the comb had been. She lowered the comb and picked up the piece of paper. There was a phone number written on it, with the words _For Lyanna_ written in flowing script underneath and a smiley face next to her name. It was Rhaegar's, she realized, suddenly grateful for the foresight her drunk self had had to hide it last night. Vaguely, she remembered Rhaegar stick the note in her back pocket before he'd dropped her off a few blocks from her house, feeling herself blush.

She let the comb fall to the floor as she crossed her room, sitting down on her bed. She picked up the phone she'd finally convinced her father to install in her room and dialed Rhaegar's number. She smiled when she heard his warm, deep voice say "Hello?" on the other end of the line.

"Rhaegar?"

"Lyanna." She thought she heard a smile in his voice. "What do you need, darling? Is everything alright?"

 _Darling?_ Her eyebrows shot up at the word, but she felt butterflies swirling in her stomach. "I was just wondering if we could talk."

She heard Rhaegar chuckle, the same low chuckle combined with the smirk she'd seen at the club, and even over the phone, it drove her wild. "I think I know somewhere we could go."


	13. Direwolves

Another gust of wind whipped through Bran's thin jacket and sent a chill up his spine. It was only September, but the cold had decided to settle in early. The sky was overcast, letting little sunlight in through the thick cloud cover, and the wind constantly swirled around him, sometimes coming on so strong Bran though he would fall over.

It certainly fit Bran's mood, he thought as he trudged down the sidewalk surrounded by his brothers, his father, and a few of his father's men. He couldn't imagine accompanying his father to an execution on a bright sunny day. It would feel wrong, somehow, or at least more wrong than it felt now. Bran wondered absently if his father only did executions on days like today. _That's what I would do, if I were him._

Ahead of him, Bran heard Jon laugh heartily, and Robb joined in. Bran stared at their backs. On any other day, he'd rush up to where they were and ask what they were laughing about. But all he could think was, _You've just seen a man die. How can you continue on as though nothing has changed?_ Bran wanted to ask them, but he knew he couldn't, at least not at that moment. Not with their father watching. How did they deal with everything they thought they knew about the world being forever altered?

Bran had always been aware of what his family - what his father - did. It wasn't easy to forget, when his father filled the van with drugs before taking him to school or the police came into the club to question his father and his employees about investigations, that his father was a high-ranking member of the Mafia. On some level, Bran knew what that meant. He'd seen his fair share of movies and TV shows to know what the typical Mobster did, and he'd heard stories from Jon and Robb, and sometimes even from Meera and Jojen. But hearing stories didn't quite compare to actually seeing the thing happen.

The begging was what stuck in Bran's head. He'd never heard that amount of sheer terror in a human voice before, when Jory had dragged a dirty, scrawny man in front of Ned Stark who had instantly started screaming, pleading for his life. Bran's father had just stared at the man, dark eyes revealing nothing. Bran knew that face. It was the face of Eddard Stark, heir to the Stark dynasty and protector of the family legacy. Gone was any trace of Father, who used to pick Bran up and spin him around, who snuck Bran candies at the club when Mother wasn't looking, who read Bran stories at night. Mikken had handed Ned his shotgun. "Don't look away," Jon had whispered in Bran's ear as their father asked for the man's last words. Jon was standing on a landing with Bran, instead of on the floor of the abandoned factory they'd chosen for the day. "He'll know if you do." Bran nodded, not taking his eyes off the scene in front of him. He'd watched as his father aimed his gun and pulled the trigger. A puff of smoke emerged from the barrel, and the man's head snapped backward before falling over onto his stomach. A pool of red liquid began forming under the man's head. Bran wanted to look away, but he couldn't make himself, and not just because of Jon's warning. After what felt like an eternity, Jon had pulled on Bran's sleeve. "Let's go." Bran had nodded and began walking down the steps, still unable to tear his eyes away from the body lying in the middle of the floor.

"Are you alright, Bran?"

Bran started slightly. He hadn't realized his father was standing right next to him. The rest of their party was well ahead of them now, he noticed. "Um, yeah," he replied quietly, keeping his eyes trained on his shoes.

"You sure?" his father asked, and Bran could hear the probing in his father's tone, the need to make sure Bran truly was okay, but Bran didn't want to say anything else, didn't want to admit to how his stomach twisted every time he remembered the harsh _crack_ the man's skull had made as it had crashed into the cement. "I remember the first time I went with my father to an execution," his father continued. "I don't think I talked to anyone for three, four days afterward." Bran risked a glance up at his father, wondering if this was a trick. His father didn't elaborate, though, and they lapsed back into easy silence. As they crossed a street, his father asked, "Do you know why I had to kill that man?"

Bran took a few seconds before answering. "Because he was a traitor to the Watch. He was going to reveal our secrets."

His father smiled at him. "That's true, yes. But do you know why I had to be the one to do it?"

Bran stopped walking, staring up at his father with his mouth open. Before he had a chance to question his father, Jon's voice echoed from up the street. "Dad! Bran! Get up here!" he shouted at them before disappearing around the corner.

Ned chuckled. "Well, let's go see what kind of trouble your brothers are up to."

Bran followed his father up the block and around the corner. They'd reached the street their own house was on, though they still had a few blocks to go. Once Bran rounded the corner, he saw his brothers and a few of his father's men standing in a yard a few houses up. They were all huddled in a tight circle, laughter echoing down the block carried by the wind that still whipped at Bran's face. Robb appeared to be holding something in his arms, and Jon was leaning over to reach at something. It wasn't until Robb turned to say something to Jon that Bran realized what they were all crowded around and took off at a run.

"Puppies!" Bran exclaimed as he shoved his way in between Jon and Robb. He reached down into the circular cage and grabbed the nearest one, a silver-colored husky with bright yellow eyes. The pup yowled a bit when Bran picked him up, but after a few seconds of Bran stroking its fur, the pup put its front paws on his chest and tried to lick Bran's face. Bran giggled, pushing the pup's head down and stroking the top of its head. He looked to his left and saw Robb holding another one of the pups, a bundle of light grey fur that looked to be falling asleep in Robb's arms.

"What's all this about?" Bran heard his father's voice from behind him.

Bran and Robb whirled around at the same time, smiling widely. "Can we keep them, Father, please?" he asked, looking up at his father. The pup reached up and licked Bran's chin, and Bran stroked the top of its head with his thumb.

Their father glanced back and forth between the two of them. Bran couldn't tell what he was thinking. Bran heard Jon talking nonsense to the rest of the dogs in the circular cage. "How many?" his father finally asked.

"Five," Jon said from behind him, standing up. "Three males, two females. Just like your children."

Bran whipped his head around to look at his brother. Jon's count was only accurate if he left out himself. Would Jon really sacrifice a pup of his own? "Jon," Ned said, a pain-stricken expression on his face.

"There'll be one for each of your children, sir," Jory chimed in from the other side of the pen. "It's like it was meant to be."

Bran glanced up at his father hopefully. His father's mouth was open as if he wanted to say something, but no sound was coming out. He shook his head, and Bran glanced back down at the pup in his arms, concentrating on stroking its fur so he wouldn't have to think about what would happen if his father said no.

"I don't -" his father started. "I don't know if that would be a good idea right now." Bran felt his stomach drop to his toes. "Five newborn pups to take care of -"

"We'd take care of them," Robb cut in suddenly, giving Bran a sidelong glance. "Feed them, take them for walks, train them. Right, Bran?"

Bran looked back at his father, nodding vigorously. "We would, we would, I promise, Father. You and Mother wouldn't have to worry about anything."

There was another long silence as their father considered this, only interrupted by the small yowls of the other three pups in the cage.

"You folks looking to buy those?"

Bran glanced at the house behind him. It was at this moment he remembered that he was standing in someone else's yard, and he felt his cheeks flush. The pup in his arms stirred at the voice coming from the door. An older-looking woman stood in the doorway, her grey hair flying in all directions with the wind. She walked down the sidewalk and came to stand next to the pen. "Well, are ya?" she asked again, looking at Ned. Bran looked back to his father again, trying not to get too excited.

Ned glanced back at his children before making his answer. "Yes, I think we are. How much for all five of them?"

"All five?" The old woman let out a low whistle and shook her head. Bran smiled, feeling his heart leap. It had worked! "It'll be three hundred for the five of 'em," she continued. "And, if you're interested, there's a sixth one in the house I'll let you have, no charge."

"There's another one?" Jon asked, whirling around.

The woman smiled wryly. "Yes, there's another one. Albino. Pretty small and sickly. I thought he would die for a few days after he was born, but he seems to be getting better. I've been keeping him in the house so I can take care of him better. You want him?"

Jon glanced back at their father, eyes wide. Bran turned to look at his father and saw him smiling for the first time all day. He gave Jon a small nod, and Bran saw Jon's face light up.

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A/N: Reviews are what keep me going!


	14. Fall Down, Get Back Up

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking so long with this chapter. As always, I'll try to get on a more regular posting schedule, but I don't make any promises. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy the new chapter

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"Alright, ladies, let's take it from the top!"

Sansa hastily grabbed her poms and stood, rushing back to her spot just as Margaery started up the music. As the first beats filtered through the sound system, Sansa moved in time with the music, feeling herself settling into a rhythm. It had taken almost two months, but she finally felt comfortable with the routine. Margaery had made it more complex than anything Sansa had ever done before, even in her pointe classes, and with state cheer coming up in less than a week, Margaery had been pushing the girls harder than ever to make sure every last detail was exactly perfect. The last few weeks had been especially exhausting, once they'd gotten out the mats to practice lifts. More often than not Sansa had come home from practice with bruises all over her arms and legs from falling down and having other girls fall on top of her. Robb had jokingly pointed out a few nights ago that, for once, she was more beaten up than he or Jon were, which made her smile.

As Sansa moved into position for the first lift, she heard a loud bang from the back of the gym, followed by the sounds of laughter and boys' voices. Elinor jumped into her and Alla's hands, and Sansa and Alla hoisted Elinor into the air. The voices and laughter were getting louder, Sansa noticed, coming closer to the gym. She noticed a few of the girls around her, Alla included, looking toward the back of the gym where the noise was coming from. Sansa did her best to keep her focus on Elinor, who was doing the in-the-air cheers. As the music boomed around her, Sansa suddenly felt panic race through her stomach. _I don't know what happens after in-the-air_. Was she supposed to chant something? Where was she supposed to move? She looked back to Alla, who still had her eyes trained on the back of the gym, where the noise was almost at the same level as the music now. As much as Sansa wanted to glance back in that direction, she knew it would be a bad idea.

A black and white blur cut across Sansa's field of vision, and Elinor screamed, suddenly wobbling. Sansa locked eyes with Alla, who was finally paying attention to the lift instead of the noise coming from the back of the gym. But it was too late - Elinor listed to her right, and when Sansa tried to move to follow her, Elinor's foot came out of Sansa hand, and then the two of them were falling. Sansa slammed hard onto the mat, and Elinor's torso came down on Sansa's legs. Shrieks echoed around her, and Sansa heard Alla fall onto the mat a few feet away. The music cut off abruptly, but she could still hear the laughter and voices she'd been hearing for the past minute.

"Joffrey, what the hell?" Sansa heard Margaery's voice echo across the gym, and the noise stopped almost immediately. Sansa felt herself tense up. What would _Joffrey_ be doing here? He hadn't seen her fall, had he? She sat up slowly, keeping her back turned and hoping he hadn't realized she was one of the girls who'd just fallen.

"Aw, come on, Marge, you can't possibly be sure I'm the one that caused that," Joffrey drawled, and even though Sansa was already hot from practice, she could feel her face flush, and she felt her stomach swoop with nervousness.

"First of all, you ever call me 'Marge' again, you'll live to regret it," Margaery snarled, and Sansa smiled in spite of herself. "Second, the soccer team may be full of the biggest jerks in school, but none of them have quite your brand of stupidity." _The soccer team, of course_ , Sansa thought. They must have come inside for practice.

"Margaery Tyrell, you better not be injuring any of my players," a third voice said, rough and tired. Sansa risked a glance to her left and saw the soccer coach walking through the gym, toward where Margaery stood facing Joffrey and a few of his friends. All the soccer players were at least a head taller than Margaery, but most of them stood behind Joffrey, giving her uncertain glances.

"If I did, it'd be because one of them already injured three of my girls," Margaery spat back.

"Better not be, we've got a big game tomorrow."

"And we've got _state cheer_ next week. Also." Margaery turned, rounding on the coach. "I have this gym reserved for another hour, at least. What's your team doing in here, interrupting my practice?"

"Thunderstorm," the coach replied gruffly. "Wouldn't have bothered, but school policy says we have to come inside if there's lightning." Almost on cue, lightning flashed through the window, and a particularly loud _boom_ of thunder followed, making Sansa jump. They'd been practicing so hard, she hadn't even noticed the storm outside. Without the music on, she could just hear the sound of rain hitting the ceiling above her. "There any way you girls can go somewhere else, just for today? Tomorrow's the district championship."

"And _we've_ got _state cheer_ ," Margaery repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, there's no other place that's big enough to practice with the mats out."

Sansa glanced back to Joffrey, who, thankfully, hadn't seemed to notice she was there. She stood cautiously, not taking her eyes off of him. His normally bouncy curls were hanging limply down by his shoulders, heavy with water, along his clothes. He didn't seem to be paying attention to Margaery anymore - instead, he was kicking a soccer ball back and forth between a few of the other freshmen soccer players. A smile lit up his face, and she could hear his laugh from across the gym. She smiled to herself, remembering how it had felt earlier that day when she'd made him laugh like that in their English class. This morning, though, it had only been a small chuckle, a smile that played at the corner of his mouth. She wished she could make him laugh like this, a big smile on his face and his eyes all lit up in a way that twisted her stomach into knots.

"Come on, girls, let's get these mats moved," Margaery's voice snapped Sansa out of her daydreaming.

"What are we supposed to be doing?" she asked Elinor quietly as they walked to the edge of the mat.

"We're moving up onto the stage. Coach insists there's no other place for them to practice." Elinor rolled her eyes, and Sansa muttered, "Ugh," as she picked up an end of the mat, but she smiled once they began moving the mat. She would be able to watch Joffrey for the rest of practice.

After ten minutes of struggling to push the mats onto the stage and a bit of help from some of the senior soccer players (whose toned arms made Sansa blush furiously), cheer practice finally resumed, although most of the intensity that Margaery had been trying to build over the last two months had disappeared with the intrusion of the soccer team. Even Sansa couldn't make herself take the routine as seriously as she had just half an hour ago. She finally remembered what came after the first lift (the star position, _duh_ , how could she have forgotten, she thought to herself, they'd practiced that transition for almost an hour one day last week), but as she went through the routine, she found her eyes wandering to where Joffrey stood off on the sideline as the varsity team ran through their drills. She noticed his curls drying in wild directions, sticking up in places she'd never seen before. It made her giggle a bit, but she also thought it was adorable. She wished she could go over and try to make the flyaway curls lay down. She knew she should be concentrating on making sure her moves were exactly in sync with her teammates', but she couldn't make herself look away from Joffrey. She'd had a crush on him for as long as she could remember, and things had only gotten worse when her mother had said a few months ago that she hoped they could "work something out" with the Baratheons. Sansa didn't even want to think about how many hours she'd fantasized about standing in front of the council with Joffrey at her side as he announced to the rest of the council that they'd be promised to each other. It was something she'd wanted all her life, and now it seemed like everything might fall into place.

"Hey, Sansa!" Margaery called as Sansa was packing up her bag after practice. Sansa glanced up and saw Margaery walking her direction. She felt her stomach tense up. She'd hoped Margaery hadn't noticed that she wasn't really focused at practice, but maybe she had.

"Hi, Margaery," Sansa replied nervously once Margaery had made her way over to where Sansa sat with her bag. Sansa stuffed her cheer shoes into her bag, her fingers fumbling over the zipper. She'd almost forgotten how much more intimidating Margaery was up close. "What's up?"

"I have a question for you. Well, a proposition, really." Sansa stood, looking at Margaery. The stern face of Margaery the Cheer Captain that Sansa was used to had been replaced with something else - a more curious, prying look. Sansa felt her stomach clench again. "My duo partner graduated last year, and I've been looking for someone to replace her. I heard through the grapevine that you were interested in joining the forensics team, so …"

It took Sansa a moment to process what Margaery was implying. "Wait you're - you're asking me to join the speech team … with you?"

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I think you'd be really good at it. Plus, your brother said something in Psych the other day about how you wanted to be an actress -"

"Robb talks about me in class?" Sansa interrupted, feeling her face get hot.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," Margaery replied, reaching over to give Sansa's shoulder a squeeze. "I didn't mean to make you upset - that probably wasn't the best way to phrase that." She smiled weakly, and Sansa wondered absently if she had ever seen Margaery this frazzled before. "I know it's kind of a big thing to spring on someone, but - would you at least think about it? I really think we'd work well together."

Sansa opened her mouth, then closed it when she realized she didn't know what she wanted to say. She still wasn't over the initial shock of Margaery Tyrell wanting _her_ to be her duo partner. Margaery had gotten second place at the state forensics meet last year, and she wanted _Sansa_ to be her new duo partner? Sure, she'd shown up to the informational meeting for the forensics team a few weeks ago, but she wasn't sure if she really wanted to be on the team - Jeyne had said just today at lunch that the forensics teams was full of nerds and joining was practically social suicide. It hadn't been for Margaery, though, Sansa realized. Margaery was in a lot of things that most people considered to be lame, and she was still one of the most popular girls in school. "I'll think about it," Sansa said finally.

Margaery smiled widely. "Okay. Just let me know. We'd probably have to get cracking as soon as state cheer is over, so that's when you'll need to make your decision." Sansa nodded. Five days. That would be plenty of time, she thought. "Well, I guess, I'll see you tomorrow. Bye!

Sansa smiled back at her. "See you tomorrow," she said softly, turning on her heels and walking toward the back end of the gym, where Robb would be waiting for her outside in his junker of a car. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to tell him off for even mentioning her in a class full of seniors, or hug him for the next week for giving her the chance to work with Margaery Tyrell.


	15. First Date (Part 1)

A/N: I feel like I'm always saying this, but I really am sorry it takes me so long to get a new chapter up. This one has been worth the wait, though, I promise! Also - yes, this does say part one in the chapter title - the chapter got a bit longer than expected, so I split it up into two parts. The second part will be coming at the end of the week :) Enjoy!

* * *

Lyanna kicked at the gravel at her feet, slowly swinging back and forth. The crunch of her feet dragging along the ground was the only sound she could hear. The playground was deserted, even though it was shaping up to be one of the nicest days of the year; the sun was out, the air was still, and light, fluffy clouds filled the sky. Some people might have thought a fairly old and completely empty playground in the middle of suburbia was a little creepy, and some people might have even wondered what Lyanna was doing there. But no one was, she knew. Very few people ever came by this area. If there was a reason for that, Lyanna had no idea. But the emptiness was the reason she was there in the first place.

It was nice to be alone, she thought as she sat on the rickety swing. At school, there was always someone watching her - friends, teachers, people her father had assigned to look out for her. Even at home, it was as if she could feel her father breathing down her neck. Brandon was right next door, ready to come barging in if he thought anything was out of place, Benjen always wanted to talk to her, and even Ned, who tended to leave her alone, seemed to always have an eye on her recently. And Robert - God, every time Robert came over to see her, it took more and more effort to seem like she was enjoying herself. The only time she ever felt remotely like herself was when she was alone. Or when she was with Rhaegar. But it had been nearly two weeks since she'd been able to even talk to him, and sometimes she felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her act.

At the sound of a car coming up the road, Lyanna glanced up. A sleek black car came up the block and pulled up to the curb. Lyanna stood, smiling, and walked over to the car. The back window rolled down as she got closer, revealing Rhaegar, who was beaming at her.

"Hello," he said as she approached the car, his voice a welcome sound in her ears.

"Hey," she replied, leaning down and pressing her mouth to his. He hadn't been expecting it, she could tell, but after a few seconds, his hands reached up to cup her face. She heard a noise of satisfaction from the back of his throat, and she deepened the kiss, running her tongue across his bottom lip.

Someone in the front seat of the car cleared their throat, and Lyanna and Rhaegar snapped apart, both gasping for air. She realized, very belatedly, that with Rhaegar in the backseat, someone else had to be driving. _Shit shit shit shit_ , was the only thought running through her head. Panic shot through her, and she glanced up at Rhaegar to see him - smiling?

"If you two could keep it PG while I'm around, that'd be great," she heard a sarcastic voice say from the front seat.

Rhaegar chuckled. "Forgive me if I can't control myself around such a beautiful woman," he replied, and Lyanna felt herself blushing. "Get in," Rhaegar whispered in her ear, and Lyanna opened the door and climbed into the car. Rhaegar wrapped his arm around her as the car rolled up the quiet street. "Lyanna," he said in a grand voice, "allow me to introduce you to Arthur Dayne, our chauffeur for the day. Arthur, Lyanna Stark."

"Nice to finally meet you," Arthur said, glancing back at her in his rearview mirror.

Lyanna glanced up at Rhaegar. "Arthur Dayne?" she asked. " _The_ Arthur Dayne? The one who took on ten cops by himself after a sting gone wrong and only got away with a few cuts? That Arthur Dayne?"

"The one and only," Arthur replied. Lyanna could hear the smirk in his voice. "But it was only four cops. I'm surprised any of you Starks have even heard of me."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Just because we tend to stay out of your way doesn't mean your wild stories don't reach us." She looked back to Rhaegar. "Why is he driving us around?" she asked, lowering her voice. "Is it safe for us to be together today?"

Rhaegar sighed, and Lyanna noticed him tense up. "It's perfectly safe, darling, I promise. I trust Arthur with my life, and he's never let me down. I wasn't even planning on having him with us today but -" Rhaegar paused, for once seeming unsure of himself. His eyes darkened as he spoke. "There are only some days I can convince my father that, at twenty-three, I do know how to take care of myself. Today was not one of those days."

Lyanna nodded, letting silence fall inside the car. She was always amazed by how easy it was for her to forget who Rhaegar was, who his family was. Rhaegar was easy-going, kind, thoughtful, caring - the antithesis of everything the Targaryens represented. It was hard to imagine that kind of person alongside the cold, calculating, almost insane man who was his father. "Well, at least we get to spend some time together," she said. "It's been too long since we've had a chance to do that."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes at that, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward. "Lyanna, it's only been a week."

Lyanna dropped her mouth in mock-astonishment. "It has been more than a week. Ten days, at least."

"It has not," Rhaegar responded teasingly, and the mischievous gleam in his eyes made Lyanna's stomach do a few turns.

"Yes it has, Rhaegar," said Arthur from the front seat. "The last time I had to cover for you was last Tuesday. It's Saturday."

"Thank you," Lyanna said to Arthur, then turned back to Rhaegar, resting her head on his shoulder. "I like him."

Rhaegar sighed. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Arthur."

"Can't help it if the lady's right, sir."

Rhaegar laughed at that, shaking his head. Lyanna snuggled into him, her head settling on his chest, feeling it rise and fall. His hand slid down and rested on her hip, and he rubbed his thumb across the bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. "So what exactly are we doing today?"

"We are going on our first proper date."

"You mean talking at a bar for three hours and then making out in a storage closet doesn't count as a real date?"

Leaning up against him like she was, she could feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckled, that same low, deep sound that made her stomach tighten and her heart race. "Not that that wasn't … enjoyable, but I'm not sure that counts as a date."

"Damn. Does that mean there won't be any making out in a closet on this date, then? Because that was probably my favorite part."

"Well, the amount of closets on this date will be pretty limited, but the rest of it …" Rhaegar reached up and lifted Lyanna's chin, leaning down so they were almost at eye-level with each other. He pulled her closer and closer, their lips almost touching when -

"Uh-uh," came Arthur's voice from the driver's seat as he pulled up to a stoplight. Rhaegar froze, his eyes flickering to the front seat, his face still centimeters from Lyanna's. "There will be no making out in this car while I'm in it," Arthur continued. "The only reason you two got away with it last time was because one of you wasn't in the car yet."

Rhaegar smiled, leaning his forehead against Lyanna's. "I guess we'll have to save that for later, then," he whispered, his eyes gleaming, and Lyanna could feel her stomach swirling. Rhaegar leaned backward, stretching himself out against the back seat. Lyanna rolled her eyes, snuggling back into him. She could hear the sound of his heart beating in his chest, a steady, comforting rhythm. His fingers traced shapes on her arms as he held her, and, for the first time in nearly two weeks, she could feel herself truly relaxing. All the things she'd been worrying about she'd left behind at that empty park, and all she was left with was the soothing sound of Rhaegar's heartbeat as Arthur drove them through the city.


	16. First Date (Part 2)

A/N: Just a reminder that this is a continuation of the previous chapter. Enjoy! :)

* * *

"Did we leave Chicago?" Lyanna asked when the car pulled to a stop. She sat up and looked out the window, surprised to see open fields stretching out on either side of the road. Trees covered the horizon, most of them still green, but Lyanna could see shades of yellow and orange peeking through as well.

"Yes, we did," Rhaegar replied as he and Lyanna climbed out of the car. "We're just outside Willowbrook. My family has a cabin a couple miles east of here." He pointed over to the forest behind them. "We used to come down here on family vacations all the time. Still do, sometimes. Well, me and Mom and Viserys. Father doesn't come with us anymore." He tried to hide it, but Lyanna noticed the bitterness in his voice. Rhaegar walked back around and opened up the trunk, and Lyanna followed him, excited to see what was inside.

"No way," she said disbelievingly as she glimpsed what sat in the trunk of the car. "There is absolutely no way you could be that perfect."

Rhaegar flashed her a smile, setting a blanket on top of the picnic basket. "Can you hold that for just a sec?" he asked, handing her the basket and reaching back into the trunk to pull out -

"Oh my God, are you even real?" Lyanna asked as Rhaegar slung his guitar across his back. He laughed aloud, taking back the picnic basket and holding out his hand for Lyanna. She took it, following him into the field. "Do you, like, sit around reading teen magazines so you can find out what every girl's perfect first date is?"

Rhaegar chuckled. "You know, Arthur asked me that same question when I told him what we were doing today." Lyanna giggled. "I guess I'm just a romantic at heart," he said, setting down the basket. Lyanna helped him spread out the blanket, and then the two of them dug into the picnic basket. Rhaegar had packed a lot of food, far too much for just the two of them to eat. Some of the dishes Rhaegar had brought Lyanna didn't even recognize. They were family recipes, he told her, brought over from the old country. He'd cooked most of them himself. ( _Is there anything Rhaegar_ can't _do?_ she thought as she took a bite of her fifth new dish.) Everything she ate was delicious, and she almost asked to take some of it home with her before remembering what a stupid idea that was.

After they'd finished eating, Rhaegar pulled his guitar out of his case and starting fiddling with the strings. Lyanna lay across the blanket, eyes closed, letting the sun soak into her skin. On her left, she could hear Rhaegar picking out chords and humming along wordlessly. Something about the melody felt familiar to her, like something she'd heard just once a long time ago. She rolled over onto her side so she could watch Rhaegar. His silvery-gold hair fell into his face, looking almost white in the sunlight. He pushed it behind an ear and continuing plucking out arpeggios. Lyanna recognized a look of concentration on his face and wondered if he even remembered she was there. She smiled as he continued to play, caught up in his music. He looked at ease, truly comfortable, in a way she'd never seen him before.

He glanced up at her, a bright light in his eyes. "What?" he asked, his complacent expression becoming confused.

Lyanna shook her head. "Nothing, it's just - I think I've heard that melody before."

Rhaegar's confusion deepened. "Really? I was just making something up."

Lyanna nodded. "I swear, I've heard it before. Not sure where, though."

Rhaegar nodded, turning his attention back to his guitar. He started playing again, and when he began humming, she joined him. He saw him grin when she added his voice to hers. After a few bars, words came back to her, although they weren't in English. Rhaegar stopped playing when he heard Lyanna singing in Russian, staring at her with an expression she couldn't quite place, but Lyanna kept singing anyway, afraid she would forget the words again if she stopped. It was quiet for a long time after she finished the song. "What was that?" Rhaegar asked, his voice a whisper.

Lyanna opened her mouth to answer but hesitated. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd heard Russian before, let alone spoken it herself. "It's a lullaby," she said, a memory stirring in her mind. "My mom used to sing it to all of us when we were little." More memories came to the surface, things Lyanna hadn't thought about in years. "She used to sing all the time, even when she was helping out at the club. She had the most beautiful voice."

"Used to," Rhaegar said, bringing Lyanna back to the present. "She doesn't anymore?"

Lyanna glanced down at the blanket. "She's, uh … she's dead."

The silence that followed was awkward, to say the least. Lyanna kept her eyes trained on the blanket. She heard movement across from her, and suddenly Rhaegar's hand was on hers. "I'm sorry," he said, and she finally dared to look at him. His eyes were sympathetic, and he was giving her a small smile. "I didn't know."

Lyanna shook her head. "It's okay. It was a long time ago, and I don't really talk about it much."

"Sorry to interrupt," came a voice from behind them. Both Lyanna and Rhaegar turned to see Arthur standing over them. "Rhaegar, if we don't get going, your father's going to start getting suspicious."

Rhaegar's head dropped. He sighed, then let go of Lyanna's hand. "Alright," he said tersely. "We'll pack up." Rhaegar set his guitar back into its case, and Lyanna started piling empty tupperware containers back into the picnic basket.

"I'm sorry this had to end so poorly," he said as they folded up the picnic blanket and began walking back toward the car.

Lyanna shook her head. "Don't be sorry," she replied, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. "This was the best first date anyone could ever ask for."


	17. Two's Company

A cold front had settled itself over the city. It didn't seem to matter that it was April, and the cold was supposed to be vanishing, replaced with warm spring air. Chicago had a funny way of skirting the rules when it came to what the weather was supposed to be, and even though Catelyn Tully had lived in the city her entire life, she had never quite gotten used to its unpredictable weather patterns. For the third day in a row, she found herself shivering as she let herself into the back door of the Leaping Trout. She hung up her scarf on a hook in the back room and saw Masha Heddle's coat hanging from another. "Morning, Masha," she called as she walked in behind the bar.

"Morning, Miss Catelyn." Masha's head appeared from behind the walls of the booths, a wrinkly smile on her face. "Hoster not coming in today?"

"Oh, I think he might be coming in later," Catelyn lied easily. "He had a couple of things to do this morning, just sent me down to open."

Masha raised a knowing eyebrow at her. "Well, go on. I'm game when you are." Catelyn grabbed the key from underneath the register and headed toward the front door. "Is Lysa coming in to help at all?"

Catelyn sighed. "She's supposed to be," she answered, giving the old, creaky door a nudge to make sure it was open. "Though whether she can make it in before noon, who could say?"

Masha snorted. "And Edmure?"

"Well, he's got school, and I think after that he's doing some visiting, so I doubt he'll be here." Catelyn hung the key back up on its ring. "I'm going back to do some paperwork. Let me know if anyone interesting shows up."

"Pigs and dragons. I know the drill, miss," Masha said. Catelyn heard the bell on the front door tinkle as she turned around to head into her father's office. "Good morning, sir," Masha was saying as Catelyn closed the door. She sunk into her father's old armchair behind his massive wooden desk and stared at the mountain of paperwork he had left for her, a small smile forming on her lips.

Doing the books for the club ought to be a form of therapy, Catelyn thought as she rustled through bank statements and invoices. As far as she was concerned, there was no better feeling than the satisfaction she got from making sure the club was running smoothly. It was something about the numbers. Numbers were relaxing. Everyone she'd ever known complained about math, which Catelyn couldn't wrap her head around. Making the numbers line up in just the right way, manipulating them so that everything worked the way it was supposed to - it was as close to magic as Catelyn thought she was like to get.

Masha let herself into the office around noon, bringing Catelyn her favorite sandwich and a pile of salt-and-vinegar potato chips. "It's a pity you can't do this for us forever," Masha said before she closed the door again. "I don't know what your father was thinking, giving away the only person in this family with any sense to the Starks."

The thought made Catelyn pause for a moment. It had crossed her mind a few times before now, how her family, how the business, would get along once she got married. It was a fairly selfish thing to think, she realized as she munched on potato chips, that the club wouldn't be able to survive without her. After all, the club had done quite well for almost a century before she was even born. But with her father's health the way it was, Catelyn struggled to pictured a scenario where her family would be able to maintain any sense of dignity within the Mob. The business would never outright fail, of course - the council wouldn't let that happen - but the more the Tullys borrowed from the Targaryens to keep themselves afloat, the more respect they lost, and respect bought so much more than money ever could.

Long after Catelyn had finished off the mountain of potato chips Masha had left her, just as she was about to close up the books for the day, she heard noises outside the office door. "Sir, you can't just -" she heard Masha say in an exasperated voice as the door swung open.

"Brandon," Catelyn said breathlessly, feeling her heartbeat do the dance it had done around Brandon Stark since she was 15.

"Sorry for the interruption, miss," Masha said, coming up and glaring at Brandon from behind. Brandon just kept staring at Catelyn. "I told him you were working but -"

"It's alright, Masha," Catelyn replied, her eyes locked with Brandon's. "I was just finishing up."

"Whatever you say, miss," Catelyn heard Masha mumble as she meandered back toward the bar.

Brandon closed the door to the office behind him, his eyes still on Catelyn. "I suppose you've been working so hard, you couldn't even miss me," he said, sauntering toward the desk.

Catelyn rolled her eyes. "Just get over here and kiss me," she said, reaching up to grab onto his collar and pull his lips down to hers. She felt her stomach flip at the groans coming from the back of Brandon's throat as her tongue slipped into his mouth.

"So you did miss me?" he said between heavy breaths once she'd let him go.

"Let's go get a drink," she said, ignoring Brandon's question and standing. "I've been behind a desk all day, and I know you must have some stories to tell me."

Brandon grabbed her hand and led her out of the office, down the hallway and back out into the club. Immediately, Catelyn spotted another familiar face. "Hello, Petyr," she said lightly as she and Brandon approached the bar.

Petyr Baelish turned to face her, a smile lighting up his sharp features. "Hi, Catelyn. H-"

"Scotch on the rocks for you, Cat?" Brandon asked, tugging on her arm and pulling her into him.

"You know the answer to that," Catelyn replied, grinning up at him. She offered Petyr an apologetic smile, but he was no longer looking at her. Instead he was glaring down at his near-empty glass, something he seemed to be fond of doing whenever Brandon was in the club.

"And a whiskey for me," Brandon told Lysa, who had nearly finished pouring their drinks before he'd finished ordering. She pushed them toward Brandon and Catelyn without a word and walked over to where Petyr was sitting. Another stony greeting, Catelyn thought, shaking her head. Brandon dropped her hand to grab the drinks, and the two of them headed over to their usual spot in the back of the club in front of the massive fireplace, which was roaring as merrily as it had in December. She snuggled in next to Brandon on their couch, the oldest, rattiest one closest to the fire, with a pattern so worn and faded Catelyn couldn't even tell what it was supposed to be anymore. "So," Brandon asked, eyes full of mischief. "You ready for a story?" Catelyn nodded.

Watching Brandon tell stories of his hijinks was what Catelyn assumed it felt like to be hypnotized. Brandon's loud, boisterous voice got soft and intense, and he leaned in closer to her, as if it were dangerous for him to be overheard. His eyes gleamed playfully while he talked, and his hands gestured almost maniacally in front of him. Catelyn nodded as he went along, trying to contain her laughter until he finished so she made sure she heard the whole story. As Brandon told her the stories he'd lived over the three weeks they'd been apart, other people came and sat in front of the fire. Some of them Catelyn recognized as part of the Mafia, others were just civilians. Brandon never seemed to care, though. He didn't seem to have learned to censor himself the way everyone else she knew always did. He just talked, as if it was just the two of them.

At some point, Petyr had come and sat down in one of the armchairs next to the fogged-up windows. The sun had gone down by the time Catelyn had noticed him, a small lamp illuminating his stormy face. Brandon diverted her attention quickly, though, in the middle of a story once more.

"And of course, Jacks can't go anywhere, 'cuz he's pinned underneath the -" Brandon cut off mid-sentence, his gaze moving in front of him. Catelyn followed his eyes and saw Petyr taking a final step forward, listing dangerously as he stopped directly in front of her and Brandon. Catelyn glanced back to the armchair where he had been sitting and saw three empty shot glasses and a large tankard on the table next to the chair. _Fuck_ , she thought, looking back at Petyr's sour expression. His right hand was up his sleeve, reaching for something. "Can I help you with something, Littlefinger?" Brandon asked, staring up at Petyr disdainfully.

Petyr just glared at Brandon. Catelyn saw a knife drop from Petyr's sleeve and into his hand and felt her stomach drop. "I want you," Petyr slurred, pointing the knife at Brandon, "to give me what is rightfully mine."

The club had gone very still all of a sudden. Catelyn glanced back and forth between the two men. Brandon's face had turned to stone, and there was fire behind his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," Brandon said, in a dull, flat tone.

" _Yes, you do!_ " Petyr spluttered, advancing on the two of them and nearly sticking the knife into Brandon's forehead. Catelyn sprang back at the same time that Brandon stood, pushing Petyr's hand out of the way. The knife hit the far wall and clanged onto the ground.

"How dare you talk about Catelyn like she's some kind of prize to be won," Brandon spat out, glowering down at Petyr.

"You think you just get to waltz in here," Petyr said, almost as if he hadn't heard what Brandon had said. He stumbled backward, trying to get away from Brandon's death glare. "Just because you're a Stark, you think that gives you the right to have her -"

The punch happened so fast, Catelyn wasn't even sure she saw it. "Brandon!" she shouted, as Petyr's head jerked to the side. She stood, beginning to rush over to help him.

"Oh, so you'll take pity on me now?" Petyr snarled at her, and she stopped, just behind Brandon. "Is that what I am to you, Cat? Some poor, pathetic child who needs to be cared for?"

"Petyr, you know that's not true," Catelyn said slowly. "Brandon," she whispered, "leave him alone, he's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I think he knows exactly what he's saying," Brandon said, his eyes boring holes into Petyr. The knot in Catelyn's stomach tightened. "I think he's been wanting to say this for a long time. But he didn't, until he got enough booze in him. 'Cuz he's a coward."

Petyr took a swing up toward Brandon's face, but Brandon caught it and twisted. Petyr let out a scream.

"Brandon, no!" Catelyn yelled. But Brandon didn't seem to be listening. He threw another punch, and Petyr's knees buckled. The two of them slammed hard onto the floor. Petyr cried out again as his head hit wood. Punches were flying everywhere. "No, no, stop, both of you!" Catelyn screamed as they rolled around on the ground. She felt so helpless, watching them. Something metallic clinked against wood, and she saw Brandon's silver pistol slide across the wooden floor. Both of them dived for it.

 _"No!"_

Brandon got hold of the pistol first, and spun it around, pointing it directly in Petyr's face. Petyr closed his eyes and put his hands above his head in surrender.

"Brandon, _no_. Please don't do this," Catelyn pleaded, inching closer to Brandon and Petyr.

Brandon cocked the weapon, keeping it in Petyr's face. Catelyn watched Petyr swallow hard, his face full of terror. "You don't think he should pay for the shit he just said?" Brandon growled.

"I don't think he deserves to _die_ for it," Catelyn said. She put a shaky hand on Brandon's shoulder. "And I don't want my husband to be in jail for the first twenty years of our marriage for the murder of one of my childhood friends."

The club was silent for a long time. Catelyn watched as Petyr squirmed underneath the pistol. A floorboard creaked somewhere in the club, and the noise seemed to snap Brandon out of his trance. Catelyn felt his shoulders relax underneath her, and he switched the safety back on. A wave of relief coursed through her. Then suddenly he swung the gun back, almost hitting her, and slapped the side of Petyr's forehead. Catelyn jumped back and gasped, and Petyr let out another yell.

Brandon stood, wiping Petyr's blood off his pistol. "If you _ever_ try that again," he said, in a low, deadly voice as Petyr writhed on the ground, "I will finish the job." He looked up toward Catelyn as he finished, and she nodded slowly, feeling her heart racing again. He jammed the pistol into an inside pocket of his jacket and began walking toward the door. Catelyn watched him go, the little bell on the door tinkling as he slammed it shut on his way out.

* * *

A/N: People who read this on AO3 saw this first (aka like eight months ago (aka i'm the worst)). Also I might not be updating this story anymore. Idk.


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